


Reconciliation

by MonJoh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Death Eaters, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, No Romance, No Smut, Post-Canon, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the survivors begin healing old wounds, facing longstanding prejudices, and learning there are many sides to conflict.“Please, Droma. I’m only here to talk.”Andromeda hesitated a few more moments, then stepped aside and silently allowed her sister to enter a house she had sworn she would never step foot in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although there is no sexual content or graphic violence, this is not a story for children. It takes place in the complex, contradictory world we have built where everyone is the hero of his/her own story and good/evil are shades of grey.

Hermione hastily shed her work robes and reached into her wardrobe for her fancy dress clothes. A heated discussion with her boss had kept her at work half an hour past her usual quitting time – an hour after the other employees had all gone – and now she was running late.

Running late and her best dress robes were not in the closet. _Darn!_ She had neglected to do laundry last weekend because she ended up spending both Saturday and Sunday in her office at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And she hadn’t done laundry the weekend before because she had worked late Friday, then Saturday she had been babysitting little Teddy, and Sunday she spent at the Weasleys’ before they all went to Harry’s to celebrate Teddy’s fourth birthday. And the week before _that_ – actually, she could not remember what she had been doing three weeks ago but it had not involved laundry.

She prodded her dirty clothes pile with a toe. Sure enough, her nicest dress robes were at the bottom of the pile from the last public relations event she attended with Harry and Ron. The three of them typically appeared at social events together, waving and smiling for the press, more as a favour to Kingsley than out of any sense of loyalty to the Ministry.

Ginny accompanied them if she and Harry were together. Their repeated breakups and reconciliations were frequently dissected in the press and all sorts of rumours swirled around their heads each time. The boring truth was that they were rarely together when they were together: Ginny spent a lot of time traveling with the team and Harry worked nights and weekends whenever they picked up a lead on a fugitive Death Eater. Hermione almost wished the couple would finally call it quits, except both of them were miserable when they were apart. Three weeks ago they had split up so Harry would be sulking and alone tonight despite the dozen young women and several young men who would have been overjoyed to accompany Harry Potter as his date.

She sighed. Her friends would arrive any minute and she had yet to find something appropriate to wear. Her second-best robes were hanging on the back of the wardrobe door, waiting to be washed after the Ministry Christmas party, which was an improvement over lying in a wrinkled pile on her floor. Hermione sniffed at the slightly musty but not stained red dress, then aimed a quick scouring charm at her inexpensive outfit.

She paused, her work robes puddled around her feet and the red dress in her hand. It would be better if Harry had someone with him tonight. This evening’s event would be different from the dozens they had been obliged to attend in the past four years: this one was being held at Malfoy Manor. Hosted by Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. The family had been absent from public affairs until this past Christmas, but since then it had been a whirlwind of social gatherings if the stories in the _Daily Prophet_ were accurate. Narcissa must have decided they had kept a low profile long enough for the worst rumours to die off and she intended to put any lingering stigma behind them by hosting a celebration to mark the end of Voldemort’s reign.

The irony was not lost on Hermione. As if the Malfoys could erase their part in supporting that reign by celebrating its end. But Kingsley would be present and had encouraged his key staff members and figureheads for the light to attend as well.

Ron had flat-out refused. _The Malfoys should be in Azkaban, not throwing parties_.

 _The Wizengamot held trials_ , Kingsley had said in his reassuringly deep voice. _Confirmed Death Eaters were given life sentences unless there were there were extenuating circumstances and other Voldemort supporters were given lighter sentences and fined. The Malfoys paid their debt._

Hermione and Harry had also expressed their doubts to Kingsley, albeit less vehemently, but the Minister for Magic had persuaded them of the importance of putting the past behind them and helping reunite Wizarding Britain. Hermione had swallowed her misgivings and she and Harry agreed it was time to move forward. They had eventually convinced Ron to join them.

There was a whoosh from her living room fireplace.

“Hello? Hermione?” It was Harry.

“We’re here,” Ron added.

“Be right out.” Hermione quickly donned the red dress robes and touched up her makeup before she regarded her hair despairingly. For events like this she usually tried taming it but she had used up her Sleakeazy’s last week; besides, there was no time to wash her hair and there was no point attempting to smooth it out when it was dry.

“If you’re in there fixing your hair, I think it’s beautiful the way it is,” Harry shouted from the other room.

A rush of warm affection escaped Hermione in a giggle. Quickly, she pulled her mass of curls into a makeshift bun before using a sticking charm to hold them in place. Less than elegant but good enough.

She rushed to her bedroom door and opened it to find Ginny, hand raised as though about to knock. The other girl was dressed in off-the-shoulder, backless green dress and her red hair was gathered into an elegant updo.

Hermione’s surprise was followed immediately by a rush of affection. “Ginny. I’m so glad you’re coming with us.” Mindful of the other woman’s neat hair and fancy dress, Hermione hugged Ginny’s shoulders.

Ginny returned the hug. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“So you and Harry are back together again?” Hermione held the other girl at arm’s length and met her bright brown eyes with a raised brow.

A sly smile curled Ginny’s red lips. “We made up last night.”

“I do not need to hear about that,” Ron said loudly from the next room.

“Then stop eavesdropping,” Ginny shouted back. “I’ll tell you more later,” she whispered to Hermione with a wink.

“I’m not sure I want to hear it, either,” Hermione said with a smile. “Your hair looks fantastic, by the way. It’s so smooth and beautiful.”

The ginger pursed her lips. “You mean straight. I would give almost anything to have it curl like yours does. I’d have to use three different spells and it’d take me an hour to make it even half as curly as yours. And mine is _red_.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Red hair is beautiful. It’s far prettier than plain brown.”

The ginger’s brown eyes twinkled. “If you’d marry my brother your children would have red hair.”

“Ginny, as much as I would love to have you as a sister, you know Ron and I are just friends now.”

“You could try again.” She folded her hands, tilted her head, and batted her long lashes. “Pretty please?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m too quick to criticize and he’s too quick to take offence.”

Ginny made a mock pout. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. I’d love to have you as a sister, too. You’d be far better than that French hussy Bill married. And Audrey is a total bore, worse than Percy. I can’t even imagine what horror Ron will bring home next and I’ve given up on Charlie ever getting married.”

“You’re so lucky to have a big family.” Hermione pulled Ginny into another quick hug. Despite what she said, the youngest Weasley loved Fleur and Audrey, if only because they loved her brothers. “You don’t know what it’s like to be an only child. I don’t even have cousins, or at least any that I’ve met.”

“You know you’re still part of our family, Hermione, even if you and Ron aren’t a couple anymore.”

“I know and I love you all for it.”

The young witches linked arms and joined the boys. Harry’s green eyes lit up as soon as his gaze locked on Ginny.

Ron was wandering around the room, poking at the books on Hermione’s shelf. His midnight blue robes were new and fitted to his husky frame, emphasizing his broad shoulders without being too tight. A Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes logo was subtly stitched in blue on the left shoulder. He had made a good salary as an Auror but not enough to afford the expensive tailored clothes he started wearing after he joined his brother in managing their successful shop. As soon as he received his first paycheque, he bought himself a new set of tailored dress robes and since then his wardrobe had steadily grown.

He was muttering under his breath about Death Eaters who should be in prison. It did not bode well for a relaxing evening. Not that an evening at Malfoy Manor was ever going to be relaxing, but it would be best to avoid hexing their hosts.

Harry spared him a glance. “Narcissa Malfoy saved me, remember. If she hadn’t lied to Voldemort, there’s no way I would have made it out of that forest alive.

“She didn’t care about you,” Ron said. “Her only concern was her ferret-faced snake of a son.”

Hermione decided to attempt to defuse his temper before he got too riled up. “The Malfoys made mistakes, Ron, and they went along with –” _Kidnapping? Torture? Murder?_ “– bad stuff, but they turned their backs on Voldemort in the end and they showed real remorse at their trial.”

“If Dumbledore were around, they would never have gotten away with that rot,” Ron said.

Harry stiffened. “Well, he’s gone, isn’t he?”

After a sympathetic glance at Harry, Hermione gave Ron a stern look. “The Death Eaters who survived the final battle will be in Azkaban for the rest of their lives, which is a nasty sentence even without Dementors,” she said. “Greyback is never going to see daylight again; neither will Dolohov or Rowle.”

“The Carrows are free,” Ron said.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. No one had given her a good explanation for why that pair of sadistic villains had gotten off lightly. “They had to pay restitution.”

“It’s not enough for everything they did. Not for them and not for the Malfoys.” He spun to face his two best friends. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It’s the right thing, Ron,” Harry said.

“Kingsley deserves our support.” Her friend looked unconvinced so Hermione decided to step up the persuasion. “Eat and drink all you like and the Malfoys are paying for it.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ron’s blue eyes brightened. “Stop ogling my sister, Harry; you’re going to ruin my appetite.”

“That would be quite the feat,” Harry said without tearing his gaze from his – once again – girlfriend.

Ginny smiled back and moved close enough to take the lapels of Harry’s dark green dress robes in both hands so she could pull him against her as she kissed him.

Ron made a gagging noise but Hermione thought the two of them made a handsome couple; Ginny with her striking face, thick ginger hair, and toned body and Harry with his dark curls, green eyes, and athlete’s build. Still, Hermione was relieved when they cut the kiss short and kept hands above waists. Harry was slightly red-faced as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

For all that his messy hair gave him a boyish appearance, he had old eyes that had seen too much, too young. His gaze was sharp when he met Hermione’s. “Will you be okay tonight? We don’t _have_ to go, after all, if this will bring up bad memories.”

Another rush of affection rushed through her chest. “Every one of these ‘celebrations’ brings up bad memories, Harry.”

“You have no reason to feel guilty.” Ron’s brow was scrunched up.

Hermione reined in the urge to shake him for his refusal to understand her point of view on this subject.

“We won, that evil bastard is dead, and several of his minions with him,” he said. “Too bad every last one of them didn’t die that day.”

“Ron, that’s a horrible thing to say. You’re talking about people; human beings and other intelligent creatures –”

“I’m not going to mourn giants and Death Eaters along with Lavender and Tonks and Fred.” His voice hitched and he paused in his tirade.

“I know that,” Hermione said quietly. “I’m glad we won and I’m glad we helped Harry defeat Voldemort and I’m glad he’s gone. I just don’t think it’s right to be happy about anyone’s death.”

Ron’s flush faded and he came close enough to take her face in his hands. “It was brilliant what you did. You saved Ginny’s life.”

“And it cost someone else his.” Not _Avada Kedavra_ – she had never cast an Unforgivable and God willing she never would – but it had resulted in a death anyway. Did it matter that you had not used a killing curse if you deliberately caused a death?

“Who cares that your spell cost some sodding Death Eater his life? Do you think I lose one second of sleep over any of the evil bastards that got in my way that day? Even Harry killed –”

“Not on purpose,” Harry said. “I never wanted to cause anyone’s death.”

“But you did; we all did and we were right to do it. There was a sodding war on. Those bloody bastards were trying to kill us, why would you feel even a tiny bit of guilt over any one of those hooded murderers?” Ron’s blue gaze held Hermione’s intently. “You have nothing to feel bad about, Hermione.”

“I know.” And she did, she really did, notwithstanding an occasional nightmare about a black- hooded body falling at her outstretched wand.

“Can we end this depressing conversation and focus on celebrating the end of that war?” Ginny stood with hands on her hips. “It’s over, it’s done, and that’s something we can all revel in. We’re on our way to a party.”

“You’re right, Ginny.” Hermione took a deep breath and smoothed the frilly material of her dress robes.

Ron stepped away and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah. Someone mentioned all-you-can-eat buffet and free drinks. I could use a shot of firewhiskey courtesy of our gracious hosts.”

Harry slipped an arm around Ginny’s green silk-clad waist. “Let’s go, then.”

~

They Apparated into a narrow lane hidden by wild, low-growing brambles on the left and a manicured hedge on the right that was taller than their heads. The thick shrubs formed a wall perfectly perpendicular to the gravel lane, not a single branch poking out of line, and seemed to frown at the long, thorny shoots on the other side of the road.

“That way, I think.” Harry pointed to a break in the yew bushes where a wide driveway cut through.

Black, wrought-iron gates nearly as high as the greenery stood open to a driveway leading off the lane, guarded by the long line of trimmed hedgerow. The abstract furls in the gates resembled a nest of iron snakes. One raised its head and stuck a forked tongue in their direction before it hissed. Hermione shrunk back, trying to keep to the middle of the driveway as far from either gate as possible. Then they were past and walking up the drive, the pointed tops of towers visible ahead.

The sound of water splashing came from either side, though the fountains were hidden behind the leaves. The scent of lilacs surrounded them along with the muted splashing.

“Is that –” Ginny’s eyes were wide and fixed on something to the right above their heads “– a peacock?”

They all looked to the top of the foliage to see a white bird with a tiny fan on top of its elegant head, trailing a mass of feathers like a train. It turned up its beak, flapped its wings, and disappeared behind the shrubbery.

“Snotty bird,” Ron muttered.

They drew closer to the castle which housed a family of three and looked large enough to shelter a small town. Broad stone steps led up to a wide entry framed by rosebushes. Diamond-paned windows reflected the sun’s evening rays and the sounds of string instruments drifted out the open windows and doorway. The music was answered by a nightingale somewhere off to their left.

Hermione paused on the gravel drive. “It’s rather pretty, you know, if it’s not dark and you’re not tied up being dragged along by a werewolf and a gang of Snatchers.”

“Yeah.” Harry had stopped as well, his gaze fixed on the open doorway at the top of the short flight of stone steps.

A hum of conversation drifted out the open windows along with the music.

 “Yes, it is.” Ginny tugged on Harry’s arm and he started walking again. “I think we’re late. It sounds like there’s a lot of people in there already.”

They passed through the open front doors and followed a portrait-lined hallway toward the back of the house. Only Ginny turned to look at the heavy wooden door with brass handles as they passed the sealed drawing-room entrance. Hermione swallowed hard, her back straight.

The portraits that frowned down at them were evenly spaced and hung perfectly straight. Not a speck of dust marred their dark wood frames. Candle smoke drifted along in the breeze from the open door and several of the portraits coughed discreetly or covered their faces with delicate white lace handkerchiefs. A few pointed at the new arrivals and leaned closer to neighbouring portraits to whisper.

The sounds of people talking and music playing echoed down the hall, growing louder as the foursome approached a ballroom at the back of the manor. At the entry to the room, a grey-haired man wearing emerald green robes embroidered with a silver M on his lapel collected their cloaks. Inside, all three of their blonde, black-garbed hosts waited near the ballroom door to greet arriving guests.

“Harry Potter, our guest of honour.” A gracious smile curved Narcissa’s red lips with no trace of disdain in her blue eyes. Maybe she simply hid it well. “So nice of you to join us this evening.”

Lucius wrapped both hands around his cane and gave them a nod. The dark stubble that had marred his patrician face the last time Hermione saw him was gone, and his white-blond locks were perfectly smooth again and brushed the lapels of his expensive black dress robes.

Draco took one look at the new arrivals and spun on his heel to mingle into the crowd of partygoers, ignoring his mother’s sharp look.

Narcissa frowned at his back before pasting her smile on again and extending one black gloved hand to Harry. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, my dear boy.”

Harry touched her hand and then dropped it quickly. Her smile did not falter. She greeted Ginny and Ron who automatically shook her hand politely and then subtly turned with them and gestured them all further into the room. Hermione, who had begun to reach out to her hostess, clamped her hand on her red skirt and ignored the slight.

Ron put a hand on her back and leaned down to whisper, “You’re lucky you avoided making contact with that snotty witch. If she hadn’t been wearing gloves I wouldn’t have touched her at all.”

Hermione smiled her gratitude at him.

Ginny turned around without letting go of Harry. “I’ll hex her for you if you want.” She pointed to a hidden pocket at the side of her thigh where Hermione knew she had stashed her wand.

Hermione shook her head. “We’re here to promote peace and goodwill. I don’t think that would help Kingsley’s mission of reconciliation.”

“If you say so.” Ginny shrugged and turned back around.

Harry sent Hermione a smile over his shoulder. “You handled that gracefully. You have more poise than Mrs. Malfoy could ever hope to.”

Heartened, she followed Harry and Ginny who had their arms around each other as they made their way further into the enormous room. The far wall was entirely glass and looked out over green lawns, flower beds in full bloom despite being early spring, more fountains, and short, neatly trimmed bushes lined up in exact rows. Despite the waning sunlight that came through the windows, dozens of candles floated above the partygoers, never once dripping wax, sparkling on jewellery and illuminating a painted ceiling so far above their heads Hermione could only discern vague swirls of colour.

Ron patted her back. “I’m going to get us drinks. They owe us a few.”

Hermione began to shake her head.

“Besides, I think you should touch as many glasses as you can so they have to decontaminate them all tomorrow.”

The thought that her touch would be considered unclean in this sterile house made her simultaneously furious and annoyingly wounded. They probably _would_ sterilize anything she touched this evening. She felt vindictive glee at the idea of making contact with every piece of furniture, glassware, and dinnerware she could, even the walls, except that would only make work for whatever luckless house-elf had the misfortune to be a slave to this family. So far, her efforts to force house-elf owners to register had been only marginally successful and none of the wealthiest pure-blood families had done so.

Ron came back with two glass flutes filled with a pink, frothy liquid. Hermione caught Narcissa Malfoy’s eye as she took her glass, registered the twitch of the blonde woman’s nose, and promptly took Ron’s glass as well. He looked startled until she handed it back to him after smirking at her hostess who quickly turned away to pretend she had never seen the muggle-born handling her crystal.

Hermione tapped her flute against Ron’s and took a deep drink. Her eyes widened when the frothy liquid hit the back of her throat, slid smoothly down, and then sent up a pleasant warmth. The sweet taste it left on her tongue belied the heady feeling that tingled up from her belly and made her blink several times as the room swayed. A laugh escaped her along with a hiccup and she quickly put her hand over her mouth.

“Giggle water.” Ron downed his drink in a single swallow. He laughed aloud and then put both their glasses on a silver platter that floated by in exchange for two more full glasses. He handed one to Hermione, touched his glass to hers, and downed his second glass.

Now familiar with the beverage’s strong effect, Hermione sipped hers slowly. The room did not sway again but a giggle escaped her with each swallow.

“They must have imported this.” Ron examined his empty glass. The crystal reflected the candlelight from above in flashes as he turned it. “Wonder what that cost? We should bring in a case or two to have on hand at the shop.”

“Whatever for?” The newly-constructed wine cellar at the Burrow was already stocked with dozens of special order liquors, yet they rarely opened a bottle, even on the numerous family birthday and anniversary celebrations. She suspected Ron bought them simply because he could afford it.

Hermione took another sip, rolling the sweet, bubbly drink around in her mouth before she swallowed. She looked around to see if Harry and Ginny had tasted the fancy beverage and spotted them talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt and his wife along with Gawain Robards and Percy Weasley.

“I’m going to find the food.” Ron swayed slightly, laughing, and she put a hand under his arm. “Coming?” he asked.

She shook her head and gestured to the group of Ministry staff. “I’ll go say hello to Kingsley.”

Ron shrugged. “See you later, then.”

As Hermione approached the group around the Minister for Magic, she caught sight of Amos Diggory joining them as well. Not wanting to deal with her boss right now, she turned and headed in the opposite direction, looking for other familiar faces in the crowd. Although she recognized several more ministry employees, there was no one she was especially friendly with and she found herself at the edge of the room, sipping a third glass of giggle water and watching the party.

The youngest Malfoy’s white-blond hair, shorter than his father’s, was immediately recognizable even in the packed throng that filled the ballroom. The woman beside him was a head shorter, her dark hair swept up in intricate looping swirls and her lips compressed tightly in a hard face. Despite the haughty tilt of her chin, her eyes had a bruised look.

Hermione was not surprised to see Pansy Parkinson at Draco Malfoy’s side, even though she had been even more reclusive these past few years than the Malfoy family. The articles Hermione had read about her, when she bothered with the rot the _Daily Prophet_ called news, had been unkind at best. Her willingness to turn Harry over to Voldemort had made her extremely unpopular while Harry was lauded in the press to the point that even Hermione was disgusted at the fanciful hero worship. It seemed no one from any side wanted anything to do with Parkinson. Hermione would feel more sorry for her if she had not been a mean-spirited bully throughout their school days.

The two Slytherins disappeared in the crowd and Hermione went back to watching the swirling mass of people. A few of her colleagues nodded her way but no one stopped to speak with her. A silver tray floated by and Hermione set down her empty flute and took another glass, this time filled with a gold liquid that sparkled with coloured flakes.

Before she could take a drink, Michael Corner and Terry Boot joined her accompanied by Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, all four with the same sparkly gold drinks in their hands. Both women wore corset dresses with long skirts that flared out from their hips and swept the floor at the back while showing a good deal of leg in front. One sister was dark-haired and one blonde but both had long, sleek hair and Hermione barely refrained from running a hand over her mass of curls that were no doubt growing fuzzier in the warm room.

“Hermione, it’s good to see you,” Michael said.

“Good to see you, too.” The last time she had laid eyes on the dark-haired Ravenclaw and his friend had been four years ago today. He had filled out since then, but his hair was just as thick and still fell across one eye.

She nearly returned his enthusiastic greeting with a hug, but Daphne linked her arm with Michael’s and tipped her head onto his shoulder so that long, straight, blonde locks trailed over his dark blue dress shirt while she smiled insincerely at Hermione.

Hermione reached out to shake hands instead. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” Terry said, as he shook her hand in turn.

“Do you remember Daphne?” Michael asked.

“We’ve never been introduced but I believe we had a few classes together.” Hermione held out a hand toward the blonde who hesitated before she briefly clasped it in a limp grip and quickly went back to holding onto Michael’s sleeve.

“This is her sister, Astoria.”

The dark-haired girl nodded with a shy smile but made no move to shake hands. Hermione smiled and nodded back.

“It’s so wonderful that we’ve put all that nastiness behind us and you can join us here tonight,” Daphne said.

Hermione clenched her jaw. _Now that your kind of people is allowed to socialize with us_ , the blonde meant. “It’s so gracious of the Malfoys to invite me.” The sarcasm was apparently lost on Daphne.

“Well, they have good reason to demonstrate their loyalty to the new Minister and those closest to him,” Terry said as he exchanged a knowing look with Hermione.

“They’ve donated a small fortune to the rebuilding efforts not to mention that new orphanage,” Astoria said.

Hermione wondered what a Greengrass meant by a “small” fortune considering what she had heard about the size of those donations.

“It’s heartening to see how the family has managed to recover from such a series of hardships. Can you imagine having that monster take up residence in your own home?” The blonde shuddered.

Hermione thought she probably could imagine, at least better than Daphne.

“That madman had a muggle father, you know. More proof that muggles and muggle-borns should be kept apart from our world. No offence, Hermione.” The blonde seemed oblivious to the sharp look Michael Corner shot her.

Terry and Astoria exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

Hermione clenched tighter to her glass, at a loss to respond to such blatant prejudice.

“There are worse things than marrying a muggle,” Michael said.

“Oh, I completely agree,” Daphne said. “I hear Narcissa Malfoy’s niece married a werewolf, if you can believe it. And they had a child.” She shuddered again.

Hermione worried that she might snap her glass in half. “Teddy Lupin is an adorable boy.” A boy with the brightest smile she had ever seen as he opened his birthday presents and his hair turned the same colour as the wrapping paper on each gift in turn. “His grandmother is thrilled to have him and so is his godfather. Anyone would be proud to claim him in their family.”

Daphne sighed. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

Michael must have noticed Hermione’s hand twitching toward the wand she carried in her hip pocket because he quickly pointed out someone they all knew and steered Daphne in that direction. Terry said a hasty goodbye and followed with Astoria.

Hermione downed the drink in her hand and pushed through the crowd until she found another floating tray to exchange her empty glass for a full one. Kingsley laid a hand on her arm just as she collected another goblet of shimmering gold liquid.

“Thank you for being here, Hermione.” His deep voice as much as broad shoulders and imposing height conveyed safety and protection and it soothed the burn in her chest. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Not especially,” she muttered.

“Then I appreciate your presence and your patience all the more,” he said. “I know there’s still a lot of prejudice out there; and I know you deal with it in your work and your personal life every day. You should also know how much I appreciate your dedication as well as your immense talent.”

It was hard to be upset with that calming voice and sincere smile focused on her. “I just thought that after Voldemort was gone those ridiculous notions of blood purity and wizards being better than other people and other creatures would die with him.”

“Voldemort didn’t invent the obsession with blood purity, he only used it to gather followers. That prejudice goes back centuries.”

Hermione swirled the contents of her glass and watched the sparkly flakes dance. “I hope it doesn’t take centuries to get rid of it.”

Kingsley squeezed her arm. “The very fact of your existence, the brightest witch of your age and one of the trio that took down the darkest wizard this world remembers, is a contradiction to such ridiculous notions of blood and race.” With a look of encouragement he patted her arm, then lifted his hand to greet someone and moved away.

She took a sip of the drink she held, knowing she had not taken time to taste the last one. The gold liquid was not as sweet as the giggle water, though it slid down her throat just as smoothly and settled in her stomach with the same warmth. The room wavered again and she realized it was her fourth drink and she had yet to eat.

A thin, weedy girl with lank brown hair that looked bedraggled in spite of its careful styling stood nearby. Her china plate was piled with an assortment of rolls and tiny cakes.

Hermione smiled at the girl. “Where’s the food?”

The girl jumped and her plate wobbled as she turned wide brown eyes on Hermione.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay.” The girl’s voice was high-pitched though she had to be at least twelve. “They’ll come around with a tray in a moment, I expect.” She bent over her plate and long strands of brown hair fell forward to obscure her features.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Hermione asked.

The thin shoulders beneath the girl’s frilly pink robe raised and lowered. “It’s alright.” Her brown eyes peeked up at Hermione. “I don’t really like crowds,” the girl whispered. “They’re loud and –”

“What’s going on here?”

Hermione looked up in surprise at the terse challenge to see a tall, thin young man with the same lank brown hair as the girl. The girl’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, but her brother’s frown was directed at Hermione.

“Nott.” Hermione recognized him despite the minimal interaction between them throughout their days at school and the years since. From what she could recall, he had had little interaction with anyone, even his own housemates. “We were just talking.”

His narrow face scrunched further. “We may be forced to tolerate the presence of you people but we are not required to speak with you. Come along, Imogene.” He clasped his sister’s thin arm and marched her away.

 _Rude_. Hermione strode away herself without any clear direction in mind. Her cheeks felt hot and she was certain there was a red flush covering her neck. At least she could blame it on the warm room.

The wall of glass was equal part windows and open doors. Hermione moved closer to the incoming evening air. She had worried that her red dress would be too thin this early in spring but the temperature in the packed room was high. A trickle of sweat crawled down her spine and she lifted her arms to cool the pooling warmth underneath.

A delicate-looking chair carved of cherrywood stood in the corner. She gingerly took a seat with the windows on her left, hoping the piece was furniture and not merely an antique decoration. It supported her, though the seat was hard and the back forced her to sit straight.

A velvet curtain fluttered to her right and Hermione realized there must be an alcove set into the wall behind her. Voices coming from behind the black curtain grew abruptly louder.

“Why did you invite her? I told you it would embarrass us.”

For a moment, Hermione thought Narcissa Malfoy was speaking of her.

“She’s a friend.” It was Draco’s voice.

They were definitely not speaking about her.

“At one point you would have been pleased to hear of a betrothal between us,” he continued.

“You know our standing with the Ministry is still shaky and there are reporters here from the _Prophet_ , not to mention _Witch Weekly_ and that rag crazy Lovegood puts out. We do not need to advertise our prior association with Miss Parkinson.”

There was a gasp and Hermione looked up to see a white-faced Pansy staring at the black velvet curtain that hid the alcove. She caught Hermione’s eye, turned her pug nose up despite the damp brightness in her close-set eyes, and spun on her heel to hurry away. No one stopped her or said anything to her as the crowd parted to let her pass.

A moment later the velvet was yanked roughly aside and Draco Malfoy stalked out. He did a double-take to see her staring at him, then he smirked at her and headed out the open door. Narcissa followed him from the alcove, a frown distorting her patrician features. She quickly replaced it with a cold, polite smile for Hermione and just as quickly found somewhere else to be.

Hermione glanced in the direction Pansy had disappeared, then out the doors leading to the back gardens. There was an inviting coolness wafting in from outside. It was growing dark and she had no cloak but it would probably be quite tolerable out there for a while at least.

The glass doors led to a terraced area with ornate metal benches tucked among planters full of flowers. A chlorine smell which indicated a nearby swimming pool mingled with the faint stink of a horse stable and the scent of roses. Another nightingale, or maybe the same one, was singing. Hermione could not see anyone else outside, though it would be easy to disappear among the terraced gardens. She walked a little further from the ballroom.

“Granger.”

Hermione jumped and spun around. “Malfoy.”

His white-blond hair nearly shone in the fading light as he lounged against a low stone wall that housed a profusion of blossoms.

“I think Pansy left.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not surprised. I take it she heard?”

Hermione nodded.

“You must be happy.”

She frowned. “Why would I be?”

He seemed taken aback. “To know your precious Potter is so,” his mouth twisted into a familiar sneer, “beloved and Pansy is so despised for daring to suggest he be sacrificed.”

“She tried to turn him over to Voldemort.” Despite her rising temper Hermione saw the flinch that name caused.

“She was a scared kid.” He leaned back into the shadow of the looming manor. “She said something stupid and no one is going to let her forget it.”

Pansy was also a mean, bigoted bully who would never let anyone else forget their mistakes and it seemed only fair she was now a target of ill will. Still, a sliver of sympathy niggled at Hermione’s conscience. “You’d like people to forget what happened during the war, wouldn’t you?”

He stiffened and his grey eyes sharpened on her face.

“Your family is trying bloody damn hard to make sure we all forget what side you were on.”

Red crept up his neck. “We paid our debt to society. Half the Malfoy fortune, remember?”

“One hundred thousand galleons. And yet your parents have donated that much again to the reconstruction efforts and here you are, still in this mansion instead of begging on the street.”

A familiar smirk replaced his anger. “Half of the fortune in vault twelve which Gringott’s reported to the Ministry held two hundred and three thousand galleons. The paperwork is on file. Bet you have access.”

She narrowed her eyes on his face. “And vault twelve held the Malfoy fortune.”

“Of course not. Vault twelve was the one in my father’s name which was all Gringott’s was asked to report.”

“That’s fraud.”

“Prove it.”

She took a step closer to him, hand clenched at her side. He stood straighter, hands likewise clenched into fists.

“Hermione?”

Her head snapped around at the voice coming from the doorway.

“Ginny said she saw you …” Harry stopped when he saw who she was talking to. His jaw clenched. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

Harry took in her tense stance. “Are you okay, Hermione?”

“Afraid I’m going to hex her, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “No. I’m afraid she’s going to smack you again.”

The red darkened on Malfoy’s pale skin. His fists clamped onto the short stone wall he had been leaning against until his knuckles were white.

“Did you find her?” Ginny came up to Harry.

She stopped dead when she followed his angry gaze to see Draco Malfoy standing there and Ron bumped into her.

“Hey,” he said as the heaping plate of food he held tottered and his glass spilled frothy pink onto his hand. He looked up to see Malfoy and Hermione thanked Merlin that his hands were too full to grab a wand. “What are you doing here?”

The blond looked down his pointed chin. “It’s my house, Weasel.”

“You should be in prison, you and your parents.” Ron’s hand shook slightly but he had not relinquished food or drink to grab a wand yet. “You were fighting for the wrong side four years ago.”

Malfoy raised one blond brow. “My parents were not fighting. None of us even carried a wand in that battle.”

Ron’s freckled face darkened and his hand flexed on the glass he was holding but he made no retort.

Harry’s hand clenched and unclenched.

Malfoy did not miss the gesture. “Afraid to throw hexes at me in my own home, Potter?”

Harry grabbed Ginny’s hand before she could reach for her own wand. He made a show of looking around. “Why would I be afraid of anything you’d do without your little gang to back you up?”

The colour drained from Malfoy’s face at that. Hermione winced, wondering if Harry realized his reference to the deaths of Crabbe and Goyle was callous. Apparently he did because his green eyes widened and his stiff posture relaxed a bit.

Malfoy’s pointed face grew sharper. “No, there’s no reason to be afraid of anything I’d do. After all, I’ve never killed anyone. You can’t say the same, can you, Potter?” His gaze took in Hermione. “None of you lot can.”

She gasped and Harry probably guessed how that shot had struck home. His green eyes grew cold. “We only defended ourselves. We didn’t start this war.”

“You can tell that to Theodore Nott’s little sister next time she wakes up in the middle of the night screaming for her daddy. She won’t stop until Theo lets her crawl into bed with him and even then she’s still hiccupping after she falls asleep and she tosses and turns for hours. But it’s okay her father is dead because _he started it_.” Hermione remembered the young woman with lank brown hair that Nott had been so protective of. “And I’m sure that’ll be a comfort to Hestia whose twin sister died when you _defended_ yourselves.”

Though Hermione had not known either girl well, she could clearly picture the twins. Both had attended each event of the slug club, sitting side by side wearing identical green bows in their hair. She did not remember seeing Flora Carrow’s name on the list of the dead, but then it had been such a long list and a few of those names had meant far more to her personally.

Malfoy was still sneering at Harry. “Used any more Unforgivables lately, Potter?”

Harry looked like he had been slapped. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “We all did things – made choices – that we regret. We’re here tonight to put that behind us.” He slowly lifted a hand and stretched it toward Malfoy.

Hermione’s breath caught at the white lines around his mouth and eyes as he offered peace to the boy who had made most of his school years hellish.

Malfoy looked down at Harry’s hand, then back up to his strained face. “I offered to be your friend at our first meeting. You’re the one who refused to shake my hand. You implied I was the ‘wrong kind’ of people.” The blond stepped closer to Harry but made no move to take his outstretched hand. “So no, we’re not going to be friends now or ever and it’s never going to be put behind us.”

With that, he turned his back on them both and disappeared into the manor.

Ginny looked at Harry. “Can I hex him now?”


	2. Chapter 2

“That was awesome, Mum.” George slid his chair back from the table.

“That was the best meal I’ve had all week,” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of dessert.

“Thank you for supper, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Harry, you are welcome, dear. It’s good to see you to see you eat a meal, you’re too skinny.”

Hermione thought it was Molly that had lost weight. Her jumper was loose and the ties on her dress had been cinched up so that the skirt folded over at the waist. There was an unused place setting beside George’s chair.

“Thanks, Mum.” Bill put an arm around his mother’s shoulders and squeezed before he left the kitchen.

“Eet was délicieux.” Fleur air kissed Molly’s cheek before she followed her husband.

“Thank you for the lovely meal, Mother.” Percy gave his mother an awkward pat and grunted when she hugged him tightly.

Audrey tugged her husband’s arm. He ducked away from his mother, pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose, and escorted his wife to the sitting room.

Molly began clearing away the dishes and leftovers with a few waves of her wand. Ron snatched back a plate with two slices of pie, ignoring his mother’s stern look. His father ducked his head behind the _Sunday Prophet_ in his hands to hide a tiny smile.

It was good to see even that bit of humour in Arthur Weasley’s thin face. His freckles stood out against his pallor and even the hair receding from his forehead seemed to have lost colour.

“I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said.

“We’re always happy to see you, dear.” Despite the deepening network of lines in her face, her brown eyes were as warm and bright as ever. “It’s a shame Andromeda couldn’t be here this time. Give her my love on Wednesday and tell her I hope Teddy’s feeling better.”

“I will.” Hermione began collecting used plates.

“You go in and visit. I’ll finish up here.”

Molly was generally in better spirits when she had housework and cooking to keep her occupied, so the younger witch nodded and set down the dirty plates she had collected. Besides, Hermione wanted to take advantage of Bill’s unexpected presence to ask him a question.

The eldest Weasley sibling lounged on the sofa with his dragon hide boots propped up on a small table. His head was tipped to the side with one long earring dangling against his shoulder, smiling at his wife who had picked up little Victoire and was twirling her around.

As Hermione paused in the doorway, Ginny nudged her shoulder. “I’ll wager there’s another one on the way.”

Hermione caught her breath and stared at Fleur’s barely rounded stomach.

“Before Christmas, is my guess.” With a wink, Ginny went to sit on the arm of the chair Harry occupied, both of them watching the laughing toddler with smiles on their faces.

Hermione moved to the sofa and sat beside Bill.

He glanced at her and raised a brow, stretching the scar tissue partially hidden by long red hair. The white lines that crossed his cheeks and jaw should have marred his handsome features but instead he looked adventurous and daring. “How are things at the Ministry, Hermione?”

“Fine, thanks. Are you keeping busy at the bank?”

“Always.” The twinkle in his blue eyes told her he knew she was anxious to ask him something.

“I was just wondering, I mean I was curious about Gringott’s paperwork.”

The brow went up higher.

“About how the bank would report on someone’s wealth, you know, if a court levied a fine or something like that.”

Bill straightened and the twinkle disappeared. “If the Wizengamot required the bank to report the contents of a particular vault they would, of course, do so.”

“But if the owner of the vault had other vaults, or if his family had other vaults, would Gringott’s report that, too?”

“Not unless the court order specified those others, no. Are you trying to hide the fortune you earned saving Wizarding Britain?” His grin made her heart beat quicker. No wonder Fleur had been enchanted so quickly.

“No.” Hermione’s voice squeaked a little and she looked down to fiddle with her skirt. “I was just wondering if someone could avoid paying fines by having their money in different names and in different vaults.”

“If you’re asking about former Death Eaters paying less to the ministry by keeping multiple vaults in multiple names then yes, that happens. Gringott’s would follow the letter of the law and not give one bit more.”

“Why would goblins help Death Eaters?”

“Goblins have less than no interest in internal wizard affairs; in fact they blame us for all the atrocities the bank suffered under Voldemort. Besides, the less paid in fines the more there is still stored in the bank. Remember, goblins consider most of the treasures to be theirs by right of craftsmanship.”

Hermione frowned. “That’s just wrong. Letting people off lightly, I mean, by hiding assets and paying lower fines than they should.”

“That’s for sure.” Ron plopped down onto the sofa on Hermione’s other side and brushed pie crust crumbs from his jumper. “The Malfoys, living like kings after all they did during the war. Bet they only paid a pittance to the Ministry in restitution.”

One hundred thousand galleons was not exactly a pittance. Not to Hermione, not to the Weasleys. Maybe it was to the Malfoys.

“I don’t understand why they only got fined in the first place. The whole lot of them should be in prison,” Ron said. “Them and the Carrows, too.”

“And every other pure-blood bigot,” Ginny added.

Percy furrowed his brow and pushed his glasses up his nose again. “If they locked up anyone who sympathized with that pure-blood nonsense there wouldn’t be many witches and wizards left in Britain.”

Harry snorted. “Not many people believe that stuff.”

Hermione twisted the handful of skirt in her fists. “More than you think, Harry.”

She felt his green eyes fix on her and knew they would be half pitying and half exasperated. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” She looked up and met his gaze. “Last week I sent a communication to all the international schools about our latest program, except Durmstrang Institute. I was told that any information I had for them was to be forwarded to the Department for Magical Cooperation so it could be sent from the proper contact – meaning a pure-blood contact. Durmstrang won’t accept owls from a muggle-born. They refuse to deal with our department most of the time for the simple fact that we employ a muggle-born. How can they get away with that in this day and age?”

Harry looked away. Bill and Ron exchanged an uncomfortable look.

“Things have changed, Hermione,” Ginny said. “The Death Eater excesses made lots of people realize where prejudice can lead if we don’t stand up to it.”

“Attitudes are changing, Hermione.” Percy’s blue eyes were serious in his freckled face. “Things are better than they were, truly. And they’ll keep changing as people see more of you – a muggle-born – the cleverest and bravest witch of our generation.”

Hermione realized she was staring at him when Ron awkwardly patted her knee. Never had Percy expressed such praise of her. She snapped her jaw closed and looked at the youngest brother.

“Percy’s right,” Ron said. “You’ll change things.”

“You already have.” Bill elbowed her and winked. “Not to mention what you’re doing with those new programs for children who are werewolves.”

“Well, somebody had to do something given the population explosion of werewolves after Greyback was allowed to run loose all year. They were children and they didn’t do anything wrong. How can we treat them like animals?” Hermione narrowed her gaze when Ron rolled his eyes just because he had heard her give this speech once or twice.

“We know, Hermione,” Harry said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his tone.

Ginny kicked him in the shin. “She’s right, though.”

“You musn’t blame people for being scared, ’ermeenay.” Fleur squeezed Victoire and the little girl wriggled out of her mother’s arms. “People are worried for zare children. Some choose not to send zare children to school zee days of a full moon.”

“The _Prophet_ doesn’t help either.” Arthur Weasley had joined them and he pointed to an article in the open paper he held. The headline read: Wolf Child Kills Three Students. “They exaggerate a few violent cases and make it seem as if that’s the norm when it’s really quite rare.”

“I know.” Hermione let out a deep breath and slumped a little on the sofa.

Ron and Bill both put their arms around her.

“Your programs are helping, Hermione,” Harry said. “Really. You’re doing great work.”

“You are,” Ginny said.

Molly Weasley joined her husband, slipping an arm around his waist as he grasped her shoulders. They both sent Hermione encouraging looks.

“You weel change the world yet, ‘ermeenay.” Fleur smiled widely at her.

Hermione tried to smile back.

~

Draco poured another shot into his glass from the bottle of Ogden’s Finest on the table. Firelight glinted gold within the amber-coloured liquid as he turned the glass and tilted his head to watch it slosh around inside the delicate crystal goblet. Nott had good taste in liquor.

“What’s on your mind?” Blaise Zabini leaned back in his chair and the light from the fireplace traced the dark complexion of his high cheekbones and winked on the emerald pin in his lapel. The gem was the size of his knuckle.

“Father asked me to accompany him to visit a friend of his at the Ministry tomorrow.” Draco was still studying the firewhiskey in his glass. “I’m supposed to make this woman’s acquaintance; some bigwig in Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Doesn’t sound that bad.”

Draco shrugged and took a swig from the glass. “Family expectations can be a pain in the arse. Sometimes I envy you growing up without a father.”

Blaise took a sip from his own glass. “If we got rid of your mother, my mother would marry your father. He wouldn’t last six months.”

The blond raised a brow. “And you’d get half my fortune.”

“Half? You underestimate my mother.” A smirk curved the dark-haired boy’s handsome face.

“You underestimate mine if you think she’d allow some golddigger to usurp my inheritance.”

“Touché.” Blaise raised his glass in a toast. “That was quite a coup she pulled off with Shacklebolt and his lackeys.”

Meaning the Minister for Magic himself had finally consented to come to their home after four years of excuses. Draco’s father had been pleased. “If it’s for the good of our family, she’ll make it happen even if it means having Potty and his sidekicks paw our good crystal.”

A tall, thin boy entered the study. His expensive robes hung loosely despite being undoubtedly made for him, and the black washed out his sallow colouring. He took a seat opposite the table from Draco and helped himself to a glass of the whiskey.

“How’s it going, Theo?” Blaise asked.

The boy shrugged his slender shoulders.

“Is your sister asleep?” Draco asked. He never had siblings, but in his experience they were either at each other’s throats or defending each other to the death. In Theo’s case it seemed to be the latter; Imogene had come home for the Easter holidays two weeks ago and still had not gone back to school.

“Yes, finally.”

“Must be tough to be full-time babysitter,” Blaise commented. “Why don’t you send her back to Hogwarts?”

Theo’s narrow face scrunched up. “Because she has trouble sleeping and she needs to be home for a bit. I’ll take her back tomorrow night and she can be there for Tuesday morning class.”

At times Draco had envied his friends who had brothers and sisters, but he would not want to be in Theodore’s shoes – having lost his father in the battle four years ago and stepping into the role of head of the household and caretaker for his little sister when he was still a teenager himself. Their mother died of a nasty debilitating illness when Theo was barely school age so their father had been everything to them, their only parent, and he doted on them. Imogene, who barely remembered her mother, had been devastated by his loss. The girl was as weedy as her brother, like a strong wind would pick her up and take her away. Theo spent so much time comforting her, he had barely had time to grieve himself for the loss of their last parent.

“If you want company on the trip, let me know,” Draco said.

“Thanks, Draco.” The brown-haired boy’s thin features were both relieved and grateful. “I appreciate your dancing with Imogene at the party the other night, by the way. She hasn’t stopped talking about it since.”

Draco’s cheeks were so warm he figured the others could see his embarrassment even in the firelight. They teased him mercilessly about the little girl’s crush but she was a sweet kid. He hunched his shoulders and took a drink.

“Careful, you’ll make Pansy jealous,” Blaise taunted.

Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s not going to be jealous of a twelve-year-old. Besides, we’re not even together.”

“Why did you invite her to your mother’s party, then?” Theodore asked. “Was it to make your parents mad?”

“No.” Though there had been a bit of satisfaction in pushing the boundaries. “She’s a friend and it’s not fair the way she’s being treated.”

“The girl who wanted to turn Golden Boy, Saviour of the Wizarding World, over to the Dark Lord?” Blaise said. “How do you think she should be treated?”

“Pansy was terrified that monster was going to attack the school and kill us all. She made a perfectly reasonable suggestion.” Though when Draco had his chance to turn Harry over he had hesitated and pretended not to know him. Still, he sympathized with her. “Merlin, the Boy Wonder did exactly that himself anyway. Marched out to die facing the Dark Lord like a good little hero.”

“Not much used to scare Pansy,” Theo said.

Draco held his friend’s gaze. “After what happened to her brothers?”

The narrow features creased. “We don’t know for certain –”

“I do.”

Blaise glanced back and forth between them. “What happened to them? Weren’t they both Death Eaters like their parents?”

Bile burned the back of Draco’s throat at the memory of hearing what had been done to the two men. “They were, yes. Pansy’s mother died without fulfilling a task the Dark Lord had entrusted to her. Since she was dead, he punished her sons for her failure.”

“What about Pansy’s father?”

“Saw it all.” Draco went back to studying his glass. “He rarely leaves their mansion. Sits in his study drinking and mumbling they’re coming to get him, too.”

Theo’s thin face pinched. “They never found the bodies of Pansy’s brothers.”

Draco took a deep drink and refilled his glass. “They never will.”

“I can’t believe you two idiots got near that madman.” Blaise raised one eyebrow and leaned further back in his chair.

“We didn’t have a lot of choice.”

“Pansy was right to be afraid. We all were.” Theo frowned at the glass in his hand before he took a long drink. “I still wish we had fought harder or been more prepared or ...”

“You couldn’t have saved your father, Theo.”

Blaise looked from one of his companions to the other, both staring into their whiskey glasses as if they could see the future. Or the past. “So what does your father want with Magical Law Enforcement, Draco?”

Theo shook off his melancholy and looked up in interest.

“He wants to know about some new programs that have to do with werewolves, especially children who have been turned.”

“About time they locked up those monsters,” Theo said. “The schools aren’t safe anymore.”

Draco’s grasp on his glass tightened. “They’re not locking them up. They want to teach wizards and witches how to live safely in company with the cubs while not hurting the poor darlings’ feelings.” Or so Lucius had said.

Both of Blaise’s eyebrows went up. “We’re accommodating werewolves, now?”

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does this have to do with that mudblood of Potter’s?”

“She apparently designed the program, yes.”

“Bloody hell. It’s not bad enough we have to put up with a _muggle-born_ pushing her ideas in the Ministry and cozy with the Minister, now we’re supposed to make nice with werewolves.”

“And house elves,” Blaise added.

Draco kept his eyes down. His knuckles were white where he squeezed his glass. “They’re just kids,” he mumbled.

“What?” Blaise leaned forward and cocked an ear. “What did you say?”

“They’re just kids that insane dog, Fenrir Greyback, targeted.” Draco’s glass shook slightly. “He liked attacking children.”

“He did,” Theo said softly. “I don’t know how my father could stomach that smelly, hairy beast being in the same room.”

“Aww, Draco has a soft spot for the little cubs.” Blaise smirked. “Could it be because your own cousin’s little boy is a werewolf cub?”

The blond slammed his glass down on the table and half stood. “I never even met my cousin let alone her half-breed brat. Hell, I’m not even sure what her name was.”

“Calm down, mate.” Theo put a hand on his friend’s arm. “We know your family cut ties to those blood traitors before you were even born. Don’t let his teasing get to you.”

Blaise lifted his glass in another mock toast, a taunting expression on his perfectly symmetrical features. “Touchy subject?”

Slowly, Draco sat. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation that my family has any connection to those … to that … to them.” He glared at Blaise.

“So why is your father so interested in what the Ministry is doing about werewolves?” Theo asked.

“I don’t know.” Draco continued glaring at his friend. “I was told to accompany him, so I am.”

~

Hermione gritted her teeth, hands clenched on the pile of parchment in her hands as she marched down the corridor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The sandy-haired official she had met with told her he would have been willing to work with her on legislative amendments regarding werewolves, especially young children, but his hands were tied. The rules about students being expelled for missing three consecutive days of school were perfectly reasonable and generally supported, except by parents of children who were forced to be absent each full moon, and the regulations on importing particular potion ingredients were for public safety reasons. The fact that those ingredients were required in remedies that lessened symptoms of lycanthropy was not relevant. Her well-researched arguments on the safe handling of the regulated items that would allow them to be imported more quickly and cheaply had been summarily dismissed.

She had asked to meet with his boss. He had sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said the Deputy Head would give the same answers. He hinted that the head of their department had already made his position clear. Hermione had refrained from making any comment about how that prejudiced arsehole would not cross the street to spit on a werewolf child. Why in Merlin’s name Yaxley was still head of Magical Law Enforcement was beyond her. It was common knowledge he had been a high-ranking Death Eater, evidence or no evidence.

Hermione was going to the Deputy Head’s office, anyway, even though the witch would probably give her the same calm rejection as the official Hermione had just left. The witch who had avoided Hermione’s requests for a meeting for the past two months while foisting her off on various lower-level officials.

An origami owl fluttered past, catching her hair in the process, and Hermione batted at it. It squeaked in alarm and fluttered away. She winced at having startled the little thing and tried to relax her death grip on the parchments in her hands.

Then she froze mid-step, her gaze fixed on an angular face under smoothed-back silver blond hair. Draco Malfoy slouched against a corridor wall, arms folded, gaze wandering aimlessly around the carpeted corridor outside the office belonging to the Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

Draco’s gaze fell on Hermione, his blond brows went up, then he pointedly ignored her.

She ignored him in return and marched up to the desk of a bespectacled wizard who was furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment while simultaneously receiving owls in a never-ending stream.

He frowned up at Hermione without setting down his quill. “Yes?”

“I’m Hermione Granger. I’d like to make an appointment.”

“Yes, Miss Granger. I believe we have communicated by interdepartmental memo several times. As I said, I will contact you as soon as a spot opens up in Ms. Fawley’s schedule.” He turned his attention back to the parchment.

“I can wait while you find a spot.”

“Miss Granger, I don’t want to keep you from your own busy day.” The wizard paused in his scribbling long enough to glance up and somehow make it seem he was looking down his nose at her despite being seated while she stood. “You will be the first to know when there is an opening.” He went back to his tasks, using his wand to fold the note he had completed into another origami owl and send it off.

She spun on her heel but only got five steps down the corridor when she heard an elegant snort. She spun around again and narrowed her gaze on the blond smirking at her.

“Bet you don’t want to know that my father only owled Fawley yesterday asking for an appointment?” His sharp chin raised even higher.

“It probably helped that they put on pointed black hats and silver masks together,” she snapped back.

The grin disappeared and his gaze narrowed. “Maybe so.” He shrugged and his gaze slipped away from hers.

“If she was a Death Eater, too, she should be locked up.” Hermione stepped closer, gratified by his flinch. Was he scared she would hit him or scared he would be contaminated by her? “Her and Yaxley and your father.”

“What would it change, Granger?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and away again. “We have our world and you should have stayed in yours. That’s where you belong.”

“This is my world, too. I may not have been born into it, but I have as much right to be here as you do.”

She expected an angry comeback but all she got was a sad shake of his head.

“You didn’t even know the wizard world existed until you were old enough for school, did you?” He did not wait for any response from her. “You don’t understand our ways. You can read books and study all you want but you’ll never really get it, you’ll never belong. That’s just the way things are.”

“And they’ll never change?”

“No.”

“We’ll see.” She left him standing in the corridor, and swatted aside an origami swan as she marched away.

~

On Thursday, Hermione knocked on the bright yellow door of a modest house nestled at the feet of the Surrey hills. Purple wallflower and blue Siberian squill bloomed on either side of the front steps.

The dark-haired witch who opened the door smiled. “Hermione, thanks for coming early.” Her brown hair had been swept up into a chignon but she still wore an apron and her house robes. “Teddy’s napping. I’m not quite ready yet. Make yourself comfortable; there’s juice and freshly-baked biscuits in the sitting room.”

Hermione’s nose twitched at the smell of melted chocolate chips. “Thank you, Mrs. Tonks.”

“I know they’re your favourite.” Andromeda squeezed the younger woman’s shoulders and disappeared down the carpeted hallway.

Hermione turned into the parlour and sat on the old-fashioned sofa, pushing aside a fat striped cushion. A grandfather clock chimed twice and then subsided into regular ticking. The portrait of a fair-haired man with a big belly waved at her and she waved back

 The bright sunshine from outside was barred by red velvet curtains on the front window but two lamps with fringed black shades lit the delicate side tables. A china plate and porcelain jug bespelled to prevent breakage sat next to a jack-in-the-box on one table and a stuffed hippogriff on the other.

She helped herself to a biscuit, then turned the crank on the decorated wooden box, trying not to jump when the music ended and a painted clown’s head leaped out at her and began making faces. When she heard booted heels on the hallway carpet, she quickly put the toy away and picked up a dog-eared copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ which had gotten wedged into the sofa. The first two pages were spello-taped in place and the binding was sharply creased.

Andromeda now wore black dress robes with a high collar pinned together by an intricate jewelled brooch. “I appreciate your babysitting this afternoon.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Hermione enjoyed spending a few hours with Teddy the first Wednesday of each month. She rarely got to see him on weekdays otherwise, Saturdays he spent with Harry, and Sunday dinners at the Burrow she had to share the child with a dozen other people. She set the book on the table. “Was this Tonks’s book when she was little?”

The older witch sat in a round chair with spindly legs and curved back covered in striped material that matched the cushions on the sofa. “No.” Her gaze fixed on the well-worn children’s book. “I mean, yes, I read it to Dora when she was little but the book was mine first.”

“Did your parents read it to you?”

“No. My parents died when my sisters and I were young.” Andromeda’s lips thinned as she stared at the picture on the cover. Then she looked up at Hermione and smiled. “How are things at work?”

“Fine.” Hermione attempted to smile back.

Andromeda leaned forward and patted Hermione’s knee. “Don’t be discouraged. I appreciate your efforts and all you’ve accomplished so far and so does the Society for the Protection and Equality of Werewolves.”

“There’s so much prejudice and misunderstanding. I just wish …”

“I know, trust me, I do.”

Hermione sighed. “Everything was supposed to change once Voldemort was gone.”

“Sadly, by then we had also lost Dumbledore. He had more influence in the Wizarding world than you might think and he always promoted tolerance.”

Hermione looked into the face that so resembled Bellatrix and yet was so completely different. “Why did your family turn their backs on you, just because you married a muggle-born? Couldn’t they see you and Ted loved each other?”

Andromeda’s handsome features rarely showed her age, though the lines around her eyes had deepened since the deaths of her husband and daughter. Now she suddenly looked old. “Because of my family’s motto, as old as the Black name: _toujours pur_.”

“How did you ever … I mean with that family,” Hermione felt her cheeks heat up at her rudeness but rushed on. “How did you and Ted Tonks ever … you know?”

The older woman’s lips upturned. Her gaze went past Hermione toward the portrait on the wall. “We were still in school. Bella was a seventh year and so was Ted. She was the most sought-after girl in that year. I was a year younger and Cissy was only a third year but she could outshine me, too. I like to think I wasn’t bad looking but beside my sisters, well, Bella was stunning with her black hair and pale skin and Cissy had beautiful long, golden locks and both of them had the Black looks. Ted was the only person I ever knew whose eyes went to me first when my sisters and I walked into a room. I wasn’t cunning and strong like Bella or pretty and clever like Cissy; I was ‘the other Black girl’. No one took much notice of me; so when Ted began asking me out and following me around I was flattered. Even when I never gave him any encouragement, he kept pursuing me. I was so gratified that one evening I let him corner me outside by the lake after curfew and he kissed me.” Her gaze came back to Hermione. “You have to understand that wizarding society is more reserved than the muggle world. We are such a small community – everyone knows everyone else’s business. It’s impossible to court without the whole of wizarding Britain knowing, and that goes twofold for pure-blood children; well, Black children for sure. No babies are to be conceived outside of wedlock.”

“You mean pure-blood girls are kept under lock and key?” Hermione’s nose crinkled. That was positively medieval.

“Not just girls; boys, too. If one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight had a child out of wedlock he or she would find it nearly impossible to make a proper match afterward.”

“Isn’t that what contraceptive spells are for?”

“You’re old enough to know that spells go wrong and young people can get caught up in the moment, shall I say, and forget to take precautions. So when Ted kissed me, and my sisters saw through my blushing excuses about where I had been after curfew, they were horrified but a bit jealous, too. It was so daring and exciting to have kissed a boy. I enjoyed the envy in their spiteful jabs and I started going out with him more often and openly. It was quite the scandal, of course, but I loved the attention. I felt so bold and worldly. At first I accepted his invitations just for the stares I got when we were together. But then I got to know him, and everything I knew about muggles turned out to be wrong. My family and those like us weren’t smarter or better because we knew more about magic; it was only an accident of birth.”

Hermione twisted a corner of her skirt in one hand. “You don’t believe that muggle-borns should stay in their world?”

The other witch placed one hand on Hermione’s arm. “This _is_ your world. You have magic, therefore you belong here as much as any of us who were born to it.” She frowned. “More than some who were born to it.” She sat back and regarded her guest. “Did you know that Ted wanted to be an Auror?”

“No. Why wasn’t he?”

“You have to pass several tests to become an Auror.”

She was puzzled. “He wasn’t good enough you mean?”

“He was talented enough in magic, he was smart enough, he was brave enough, but he wasn’t a pure-blood.”

Righteous anger swelled in her chest. “You mean they refused to let him be an Auror because of his birth?”

“Not outright, no, but the tests were written and administered by those who had been born into the wizarding world. For a muggle-born, they were much harder to pass, not because he didn’t have the talent but because certain assumptions were built into the questions that he simply hadn’t learned.” The elder woman folded her hands. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.” Hermione stared down at her lap. She had to study twice as hard to be considered as good as her peers and even then she was made to feel stupid for not knowing things that three-year-olds learned in wizarding families. Though it was never stated openly, her parentage made it harder for her to obtain a position of any importance. Neither Harry nor Ron had needed to return to school for their NEWTs but she could not even get a job interview without certification. “Do you think others will change their minds the way you did?”

“It’s a long, slow process; I won’t lie. But yes, dear, I do.”

There was a child’s cry from upstairs.

“And there’s the master awake from his nap.” Andromeda stood. “He’s learned to use that toy broomstick Harry gave him. You’re going to have a busy afternoon.”

Hermione groaned.

~

Andromeda found Sunday evenings wearisome. It was lovely to join the extended Weasley family for a meal, and Teddy had enormous fun being spoiled by everyone and tormenting little Victoire, but afterwards he was tired and fussy and Andromeda was just tired.

Tonight, she had snapped at him when he soaked her Sunday dress robes as she dragged him into the bath over his vocal protests. Then he had cried about leaving his bath, and he had cried again begging for it not to be bedtime.

Finally, she had gotten him settled with his stuffed purple dragon, hiccoughing from all the sobbing, and turned out the lamps in his room. With a heavy sigh, she took her cup of tea and settled on a chair in front of the fireplace with a slice of her favourite treacle tart, thankful she had had the foresight to hide it before Harry’s Saturday visit yesterday.

It was hard, raising a child again at her age. She was supposed to be able to fawn over the boy, feed him sweets, and then send him home for his mother to deal with. Not that she regretted having him, the only living member of her family, even during the most trying of moments. At least, the only family who acknowledged her existence.

What would her parents say if they could speak to her through the veil – marrying a muggle-born, spending the day in the company of infamous blood traitors, raising a werewolf’s spawn? Not for the first time she was nearly glad her parents had died when she was a child. At least she had not been forced to live through their disappointment and censure. Being cast out and disowned by the rest of the Black family, not to mention most of pure-blood wizarding society, was hurtful, and Lord knew she got another taste of it every time she went to Harry’s and passed by Aunt Walburga’s portrait.

When she was younger she would never have imagined the day that she would be closer to the Weasley family than the one she had called her own. The Weasleys were as different from the Blacks as two pure-blood families could be. Some of the Prewetts were acceptable enough, but the sheer volume of offspring in the Weasley families was extremely unusual and probably accounted for their relative poverty. Wizarding wealth simply could not be subdivided among so many children generation after generation without becoming thinly spread. One or two children was traditional for the Black and Rosier families. Andromeda firmly believed that her youngest sister would never have been conceived if either she or her older sister had been a boy.

She sighed, rolled her shoulders to ease the ache, and took a whiff of her hot tea. She had only taken one sip from her steaming cup when there was a knock on her front door. Andromeda considered simply ignoring it, but good breeding demanded she at least greet visitors before politely sending them on their way. She took one more whiff of the tea before reluctantly setting her cup in its saucer and getting to her feet.

The polite smile Andromeda had ready froze on her face at the sight of the woman on her doorstep. She wore a hooded cloak which shaded her face, but the evening dimness could not hide her familiar features.

Blonde hair glowed faintly where a ray from the setting sun ducked beneath her enveloping hood to illuminate delicate features and thickly-lashed blue eyes. “Hello, Andromeda.”

Even her melodic voice was familiar, though Andromeda could not recall the last time she had heard it.

The younger witch’s gaze darted from side to side and the corners of her full lips turned down. “May I come in?”

Her question penetrated the fog of disbelief that had held Andromeda immobile. Her gaze narrowed. “Afraid to be seen at my door, Cissy?”

“Has living with a muggle-born made you forget your manners to keep a guest standing on your doorstep?”

“Only uninvited guests.”

Narcissa lifted her chin. “You would turn away your own sister? Aren’t you curious as to why I’m here?”

Andromeda hesitated and wondered if there was anything to fear from her sister. Bella had, after all, relentlessly targeted her family. Once Narcissa was allowed past the threshold, the house wards would cease to be effective, though there were still charms guarding Teddy’s room.

“Please, Droma. I’m only here to talk.”

Andromeda hesitated a few more moments, then stepped aside and silently allowed her sister to enter a house she had sworn she would never step foot in. Then she led the way to the parlour, gestured to a second chair by the fireplace, and went to fetch another cup and saucer. She collected sugar and cream, her movements stiff.

Narcissa had laid her hooded cloak on the sofa and settled into the indicated chair with one leg crossed over the other. Her silk dress robes were a dark green that flattered her fair colouring and were short enough to show an expanse of shapely leg without being immodest.

The elder sister set down a silver tray on one delicate side table, then picked up the teapot and looked inquiringly at her guest. Narcissa nodded. Andromeda poured, added one spoon of sugar and two dashes of cream, and handed her sister the cup.

The blonde stirred her tea with a small silver spoon. “You remembered.”

“We grew up together, Cissy. I know how you like your tea, among other things.”

The delicate blonde brows drew together. “You know I don’t like to be called Cissy. You and Bella invented that to irritate me.”

The mention of their eldest sister made Andromeda’s stomach clench. “I care little for Bella’s preferences or yours. She was responsible for my daughter’s death.”

“She was trying to save you.” Narcissa set down her cup and leaned forward. “She was glad when we heard Ted had died. She said if only his offspring and her abomination of a child were gone, too, that you would finally be freed from your unfortunate mistake and we could win you back.”

Andromeda’s cup rattled as she set it down in the saucer. She took several deep breaths, fighting back the bile in her throat and the aching pain in her chest. “You will perhaps understand if I do not appreciate her efforts.”

“I understand the pain of losing a child. I watched mine be given a death sentence he was too young to even comprehend.”

Brown eyes stared into blue for several heartbeats, but Andromeda saw only sincerity in her sister’s gaze. Whatever prejudices Narcissa harboured, there was no doubt she loved her son and knew Andromeda had felt the same for Dora.

Andromeda hated that her family’s rejection still had power to hurt her. “Bella despised my family so much she murdered my daughter, yet she loved your son like her own.” The entire Black family considered him a godsend. Everyone whose love and goodwill Andromeda once treasured, the ones who whispered in horror at Dora’s birth, had celebrated and rejoiced when Narcissa’s child was born.

“Yes.” Narcissa’s blue eyes hardened. “Bella would have been so proud had my boy died for the cause. She considered it a great honour.”

Each breath burned painfully in Andromeda’s chest. Her nephew had been in danger, yes, but he was alive and Dora was dead. It was unfair. “At times I wish it was your son that died instead of my daughter. That he deserved it more, that she deserved to live. But I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.” Andromeda met her sister’s blue eyes. “We’re never meant to bury a child.”

Narcissa’s hand lifted as though she was going to offer comfort, then it dropped back to her lap. “Droma, I’m sorry you lost your daughter. I know … I understand. An only child. I’ve had a taste of what it feels like to lose him. Or her.”

“How could Bella do that?” The elder sister whispered. “Her own niece.”

“Prison changed her.” For a moment Narcissa’s skin grew paler. “The person who came out of that place was not the same as the sister I knew, not even the sister I knew during her early involvement with the Dark Lord.”

“Bella was always headstrong and cruel.” Her cruelty had led her to be imprisoned.

“Not like that. After ten years in that place, she was …” Narcissa’s blue eyes fixed on a dark corner of the room beyond reach of firelight or lamp.

“Insane,” Andromeda said flatly.

The blonde shivered. “She had no self-control, no feelings left. No one mattered to her anymore except the Dark Lord. And maybe her husband, but he was as warped as she was by that place.” She looked back at her older sister. “It wasn’t our sister that killed your daughter, it was whatever empty shell escaped that prison.”

Andromeda stared back, not sure what she should feel in this moment. Her sisters had been dead to her since they turned their backs thirty years ago. What happened to Bella since was no concern of hers, and certainly no excuse for her actions.

Narcissa smiled slightly. “I was always jealous of you and Bella; how close you were. You two were always together and neither wanted your younger sister around.”

Memories Andromeda had supressed decades ago poked through the pit they had been buried in: her older sister reading _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and bossily showing her how to use the child’s potion set she got for Christmas; poking fun of her crush on her fourth-year charms teacher and then hexing a girl who did the same. A stony-faced dark-haired teenager sitting stiffly between two sobbing younger girls all dressed in black at their parents’ funerals.

“We’re the only ones left, Droma.” Narcissa reached out again and this time her slender hand rested on her older sister’s arm. “Your husband is dead; there’s no reason for us to be estranged any longer.”

Andromeda looked down and was chagrined to realize that her sister’s hand looked fuzzy because of the moisture in her eyes.

“Get rid of that abomination and come home, Droma. Come back to us. I need you.”

The brunette snatched her arm away. “If you’re referring to my grandson in that hateful way you will leave right now.”

Narcissa sat back. “I’m sorry, Droma. I didn’t mean it.”

“You did.”

The blonde got to her feet, smoothed out her dark green dress robes, and picked up her hooded cloak. “I do want us to be sisters again. Even … even if you insist on raising that werewolf’s spawn.”

“My daughter’s only child.”

Narcissa’s delicate brows drew together and her mouth opened and closed without speaking. She dropped the cloak and Andromeda’s heart stuttered when her younger sister dropped to her knees beside her.

“I have my husband and my son, for which I am thankful beyond words, but I want my sister back, too.” Her nails dug into the arm of the chair and her knuckles whitened. “I understand the pain you feel for losing your husband and your daughter, but I can at least give you back a piece of your family.”

Words and emotions fought their way up Andromeda’s throat, choking her.

At her continued silence, Narcissa got to her feet again and threw the cloak around her shoulders. “You know where to contact me.”

Andromeda was still frozen in place when the door closed behind her sister.


	3. Chapter 3

Andromeda turned over, thumped her pillow, and pulled the blankets up. Then she turned over again. It was grey beyond her bedroom window, too early to rise. She turned onto her back and with a sigh reached for her wand to cast a _lumos_.

Faint light fell on the pictures lined up on her bedside table: her and Ted shortly after they got engaged, young and smiling and unable to take their eyes from each other; the two of them in their formal wedding attire, standing stiffly; Ted laughing into the face of a baby girl who gurgled back at him; Dora in her school robes with yellow and black tie, rubbing a smudge of dirt off her nose before smiling at the camera; the three of them in formal robes on their 25th anniversary. Andromeda ran a fingertip over the silver frame which had been a gift from Ted.

One photo remained unnaturally still: a picture of Ted and his parents taken the day he graduated Hogwarts. She had let his mother know of his death. The muggle woman attended his funeral, eyes puffy but dry, and there had been no communication between them since. Andromeda should have kept in closer contact with Ted’s mother and brother over the years, but the muggle world still baffled her and the metamorphmagus gift Dora and Teddy shared disconcerted Ted’s family.

Sitting up in bed, she pulled open a drawer and took out the slender piece of hazel wood that had been retrieved from her daughter’s hand and returned to her. She gripped it tightly for a moment, squeezed her eyes shut to wring the moisture from them, and then laid it back in its place on top of a school essay entitled “Why I want to be an Auror by Nymphadora Tonks.”

Shifting aside the essay, Andromeda’s fingers brushed another picture of three girls wearing school robes with green and silver ties. The two taller girls looked alike, though one had darker hair, and between them was a shorter blonde. All three wore properly haughty expressions suitable for formal portraits, though she remembered Narcissa had charmed a bee to buzz behind her sister’s stiff back knowing how much Bellatrix hated flying insects that stung. The picture showed no hint of the shouting that took place the moment after the portrait was taken.

Underneath that picture was a clipping. It showed two solemn-faced, black-garbed blonds blinking against bright camera flashes capped by the headline: FALLEN FROM GRACE: MALFOY'S WIFE AND SON LEAVE TRIAL. Underneath was another piece of newsprint depicting a female prisoner in chains snarling at the camera. Andromeda snatched the clipping proclaiming a mass breakout from Azkaban, crumpled it in her fist, and set it alight with her wand, watching as the picture curled into ash.

“Nanna?”

At the sound of the little voice, Andromeda stuffed the clipping of Lucius Malfoy’s trial back into the drawer and looked toward the door of her bedroom.

Teddy clutched a stuffed purple dragon in his left hand and his right was rubbing his eyes. “It’s smoky in here.”

Andromeda brushed the soot from her hands and held out her arms. “You should be asleep.”

“Can’t.” He crawled up on the bed and laid his head on her shoulder. “Is Uncle Harry gonna come today?”

She stroked fine, brown hair from his eyes and pulled her blanket over his knees so their legs were tucked. “Harry has to work on Monday.”

“After that?”

“You know he works during the week. He’s busy hunting down dark wizards.”

“Like the ones who killed mummy and daddy?”

Andromeda’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. There would come a time when he would be old enough to ask specific questions about his mother’s death, but would he ever understand that his own aunt had been responsible? She squeezed him tighter and did not answer.

“I had fun today, Nanna.”

“I’m glad.” She rocked his warm little body.

“There are lots of peoples with red hair.”

Andromeda chuckled softly. “At the Burrow there are.”

“Are they really all brothers and sisters?”

“Brothers and sisters and mother and father and you know Victoire is their cousin.”

“How come I don’t have brothers and sisters?”

A lump caught in her throat and she squeezed him tighter. “Oh, honey. Your mother and father never had time to make you brothers and sisters.”

“Oh.” He was silent for a while.

She hoped he was falling back to sleep.

“Why don’t you have brothers and sisters?”

Her heart lunched. “Well, honey, I … I do have a sister.”

He sat up, eyes wide in his face. They were a bright blue this morning. “I have an auntie? A real auntie?”

“She would be your great-aunt, actually.”

Teddy bounced. “Do I have cousins, too?”

Andromeda swallowed hard. “You do have a cousin.”

The child bounced again and clapped his hands. “Can I see them?”

Her heart sank. Narcissa’s offer to reconcile had only grudgingly included her great nephew and there was slim chance she was anxious to introduce the child to her precious son. And even if Narcissa was sincere in her desire to be a family, Dora had disapproved of “the Malfoy boy” with nearly the intensity his parents felt toward her. Would she even want her son to meet the cousin she had never known?

“I don’t know, honey. How about we go back to sleep and tomorrow I’ll let you practice on the broom Uncle Harry gave you.”

“Okay, as long as I can sleep with you.”

“Fine.” Andromeda breathed a sigh of relief as the boy snuggled down into her bed, purple dragon clutched to his chest. “I’ll practice and practice and then I can show my cousin how good I can fly.”

His grandmother swallowed hard, an ache beginning to creep up the back of her skull. She lay down and pulled the covers over them both, but she was certain she would not get another minute of sleep.

~

“Hermione, dear, could I speak with you a moment?” Andromeda paused in the doorway of the windowless office barely large enough for a desk, a filing cabinet, and an extra chair. All of them were weighed down with books and piles of parchment.

The head of frizzy brown curls that had been bent over a thick volume snapped up. It had been a tough week judging by the girl’s hair.

“Mrs. Tonks, please come in.” Hermione gestured to the chair, frowned to see it overflowing with texts, and then looked around her entire office with chagrin. She flicked her wand to move everything off the chair, balancing the shaky piles with a steady hand, and added them to the stacks on her office floor.

Andromeda brushed off the chair with the sleeve of her robe and took the offered seat. Her husband and daughter would feel right at home in this chaos but she fought an urge to straighten the piles in front of her and dust underneath them.

“What can I help you with?” The younger witch folded her hands on her desk.

“Have you made further headway in your efforts to get the law enforcement division to ease the restrictions on werewolves? Is there someone in particular that can help?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Fawley is the Deputy Head, the only one with authority to really accomplish anything, other than Yaxley himself. But she won’t meet with me and her subordinates keep telling me the laws are necessary and good even though they make life difficult for those struggling with lycanthropy.” Her lips thinned into a straight line. “Not that Malfoy had any trouble getting Fawley to speak with him.”

Heart beating a little faster, Andromeda leaned forward. “Malfoy?”

Hermione’s frizzy curls bobbed when she nodded. “The last time I tried to contact Fawley, Lucius Malfoy was meeting with her.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.” Her head tilted as she regarded Andromeda. “Is that what you wanted to speak with me about?”

“I’m quite concerned with your success on this project. Well, my concern is mostly for Teddy.”

“But the changes won’t directly affect him; he’s not a werewolf.”

Andromeda sighed. “Anything that makes the world more tolerant of those who suffered the way his father did will make his life easier.”

Sympathy shining in her brown eyes, Hermione reached across the desk to hold out her hand. “I know. I won’t give up on this.”

“I know.” With a smile, Andromeda took the girl’s hand and squeezed. “If there’s anything I can do to help, be sure to let me know.”

“If you have any influence with the prejudiced ministers and department heads that refuse to listen to me, feel free to use it,” the young woman chuckled.

The older witch patted her hand before she stood. “I’ll do that.”

~

Andromeda stood in the opening guarded by black iron gates between two tall yew hedges precisely trimmed to make a leafy wall. From what she could see beyond, a wide, gravel driveway led to a castle-like manor which towered above meticulously kept gardens. Sunlight reflected from diamond-paned windows in turrets six stories high at their peaks. Narcissa had done the Black family proud.

Andromeda tugged at her most fashionable cloak, already two seasons old but fastened with a silver pin in the shape of a serpent with an emerald for its eye. If she ever chose to sell the gem, it would feed her and Teddy for six months. It would probably feed this household for barely a day.

Two days of hesitation, of making up her mind and changing it again, had led her here. What if Narcissa was only waiting for her sister to walk into her seat of power so she could finish the job their elder sister had begun in pruning the family tree? Andromeda’s Slytherin gift of reading people said no; Narcissa’s pleas Sunday evening had been genuine.

Not that Andromeda feared personal harm, but unless the Malfoys were ready to welcome Teddy as the precious child he was and do everything in their power to treat him as family, which meant protecting his interests as they did their own, there would be no reconciliation.

Clearing her throat, Andromeda stepped determinedly forward until she stood directly in front of the gate. One iron coil disengaged itself and regarded her closely, then curled back into its metal nest and the gate swung inwards.

The scents of lilacs and roses drifted past along with birdsong as she walked up the drive, her high-topped boots crunching on the gravel. Water splashed in fountains hidden behind the tall hedges that guarded the drive. Her heart stuttered with each step.

She shoved her doubts aside and mounted the stone steps to the massive front door which opened at her approach. To her surprise, Narcissa herself stood in the carpeted foyer, waiting. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face on each side to fall down her back in long curls and she was dressed in dark green dress robes that cost more than Andromeda’s annual clothing budget. Diamonds graced her ears and a diamond pendant hung around her neck. Andromeda wondered if her sister had an appointment or if she dressed this way every afternoon.

“Droma, it’s good to see you.” There was a hint of uncertainty in the casual tone.

“Cissy, I hope you’re well.”

Narcissa’s blue eyes flashed at the nickname before a genuine smile curved her red lips. “Grimpy will take your cloak. Please follow me.”

A house elf with exceptionally long ears took the cloak before Andromeda followed her sister between two wide, curving staircases that circled up either side of the entrance hall, then left down another carpeted corridor. Portraits of witches and wizards with pointed features and platinum blond hair lined the walls on both sides. A woman with a bustle and painted fan leaned sideways in her gilt frame to speak to a woman with a white ruff, who scowled at Andromeda and leaned over to speak to a man in top hat and tails in the next portrait. At the end of the hallway, a room filled with greenery spilled sunshine into the dark mahogany of the corridor.

Narcissa led the way into a room on the left carpeted in deep green plush. A fire burned in the fireplace despite the warmth of the spring day. There were no portraits in this room, instead bookshelves lined one entire wall and windows that reached from floor to ceiling took up most of the far wall. Green velvet curtains had been pulled back from each window to let in sunlight and spaced between each pair of windows was a painting of flowers and meadows. It was almost a surprise to smell parchment and musty books instead of a garden.

Two high-backed chairs with thick, green-and-pink flowery cushions faced the marble fireplace. A delicate table with curved, spindly legs sat between them holding a silver tray on which was a china plate of tiny sandwiches and another of ladyfingers sprinkled with powdered sugar.

“Please sit.” Narcissa gestured to one chair and took a seat in the other.

Andromeda settled herself on the green-and-pink cushions.

“It really is good to see you, Droma.”

The elder sister leaned back to regard the elegant blonde. “You have a lovely home, Cissy.”

“I hope your insistence on teasing me with that disagreeable nickname means you’re here to tell me we’re family again.”

“I was never the one to decide we weren’t sisters anymore. It was you and Bella who refused to speak to me and swore never to step foot in my home.”

A delicate blush crept up the blonde’s pale cheeks. “It was never you we turned our backs on, only the company you kept.”

“You did turn your back on me. You refused to acknowledge me from the day I announced my betrothal to Ted.”

Narcissa blinked. “I didn’t know who you were anymore, Droma. You had betrayed everything we believed in, rejected what our family stood for, and renounced your name for a man who had no place in our world.”

“He was a wizard. He had as much right to live in our world as we did.” Andromeda clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.

“If you’ve come here to lecture me –”

The brunette shook her head. “I’ve come to accept your offer.” She held up one hand to forestall Narcissa’s exclamation of happiness. “But, that means you accept my family unconditionally.”

“Your grandson.” Her sister’s blue eyes were both calculating and hopeful. “He’s not …”

Andromeda folded her hands in her lap and waited for Narcissa to finish that thought. If her sister refused to acknowledge Teddy, or harboured a sense that the child was less than human because of his parentage, there was no hope. Tension coiled at the base of her skull.

“The child isn’t one of them, is he?”

Andromeda’s jaw clenched. “Is Teddy a werewolf? No. But I don’t intend for him to ever feel ashamed of his father. Dora would never have allowed such a thing. Remus was a good man.” She leaned forward. “Nor will I tolerate any slur against my family because a monster brutalized a child a long time ago to get vengeance on that child’s father.” Her fingernails dug into the pink-and-green cloth of the arms. “Even if that monster is an acquaintance of yours.”

Narcissa’s chin lifted and she sniffed. “That vile creature was no acquaintance of ours. That we had to tolerate his presence in our home was –”

“Due to your poor choice of loyalty.”

The blonde sighed. “Do we have to snipe at each other, Droma?” She massaged her brow with one manicured hand before fixing her gaze on her elder sister. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I promise. I’m sure your grandson – my great nephew – is a perfectly lovely child.”

Andromeda nodded and leaned back. “Why was Lucius meeting with Ms. Fawley?”

Her sister did not bat an eye that Andromeda was aware of the meeting. “He was merely gathering information on the current status of Miss Granger’s efforts regarding werewolves. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Keeping tabs lest we embarrass you further, I presume?”

A tightening of her red lips was the only indication that Narcissa took offence. “You must know that our relationship, even estranged, has been used to threaten my family. Lucius is merely keeping abreast of the situation.”

In their circles, Dora’s marriage had likely been a real risk, not merely an embarrassment. However, there would be no compromise on her grandson’s acceptance. “Teddy is my only child’s only child and I love him dearly.”

The blonde nodded. “Family is family.” She reached across and wrapped her warm fingers around Andromeda’s hand. “We’re sisters. Your grandson is my great-nephew and he’ll be treated as such.”

Andromeda blinked several times, then squeezed her sister’s hand.

A thoughtful look settled on Narcissa’s features. “It’s unfair what your daughter’s husband suffered and more so that his unfortunate condition would affect his son. Perhaps my husband and I can use our influence to eliminate some of the discrimination against people like your son-in-law.”

A knot of tension at the base of Andromeda’s skull eased. “I would appreciate that.”

“Lucius and I will do all we can to squash unfairness to innocent victims like the children Greyback,” her nose wrinkled, “infected with his vile disease. In fact, I’m certain Ms. Fawley would be open to meeting with your muggle-born friend this week if that would help.”

“It would.” Andromeda swallowed hard. “Would you like to meet Teddy?”

“Yes, Droma, I would. You can bring him by for tea tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Relief crawled up her throat. Her sister had not put her off, had named a date and time to invite them in and welcome them as family. “I’d like that, Cissy.”

Narcissa’s smile was warm. “Then it’s settled.”

Andromeda nodded without trying to speak past a lump in her throat.

Her sister’s expression grew earnest. “Were you happy, Droma? With him?”

The elder nodded. “We had our moments, but mostly we were quite happy.”

“And your daughter? Marrying a werewolf and a man old enough to be her father – didn’t that bother you?”

“Hardly.” Dora had been head over heels in love and heartbroken that her feelings were not returned. By the time the truth was finally in the open, it was a relief not to have her moping around the house with her depressing hair colour and long face – literally. “There were only thirteen years between them and it made no difference to either. Besides, they were utterly smitten with each other despite how long it took for them both to admit it.”

“You had no objection?”

Andromeda eyed her sister’s expression, but it seemed curious more than scathing. “What would you do if your son wished to marry and you did not approve?”

“Draco would not defy us.”

“Well, Dora would have done exactly as she chose regardless of anything we said. But no, I didn’t object. I wanted her to be happy.”

“You didn’t worry over her?”

The brown eyebrows arched. “I worried when she decided at the age of twelve to become an Auror. I worried when she joined the Order. And yes, I worried over her choice of husband. She worried me every day. She was a little hellion, like you.”

Narcissa drew in an indignant breath. “I was not a hellion.”

“You were. Mother put sticking charms on your toddler shoes to keep you in place so you found a way to wiggle out of your bootlaces and sneak off anyway. Then when you were a teenager she warded your room but you found a loophole in the spell that let you crawl out the window. Nearly broke your neck shimmying down from the second floor.”

The blonde sniffed.

“Were you happy with Lucius?” Andromeda asked.

“We’re well suited,” Narcissa said softly. “I may not agree with all his decisions, but I support him.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

“Yes, he is.”

Andromeda chuckled, surprised how comfortable she felt with the sister she had not been in a room with since childhood until two days ago. Warmth spread from their clasped hands up to her heart.

“Thank you for coming today, Droma.”

“I’m glad you came to visit me, Cissy.”

Her sister’s blue eyes were beginning to shimmer when the blonde pulled back, cleared her throat, and drew her wand. With a tiny flick it sent out a musical chime. Immediately, the long-eared elf who had taken Andromeda’s cloak appeared with a crack and bowed to his mistress.

“Please bring us a pot of tea and two slices of warm treacle tart with cream.”

Grimpy disappeared with another bow and a crack.

“You remembered my favourite dessert.”

One blonde brow arched. “We grew up together, Droma. I know you like sweets.”

Andromeda chuckled again to have her words parroted back to her. “You should mind your tone when you speak to your elders, Cissy.”

She tossed her head back. “You know I hate that nickname.”

“Yes, I do.” With a smile, Andromeda popped one of the ladyfingers into her mouth.

~

“Everyone hates me.”

As much as Draco valued Pansy’s loyalty, one of the few people he truly considered a friend, her negativity could be hard to take. “Not everyone.” He paused. “I have to go soon.”

“Fine. Abandon me, too.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes. How Theo endured his little sister’s clingy dependence without ever wanting to run far and fast was a mystery. “I’m expected home for dinner at seven, just like every day.”

“And I’m not welcome.” She flopped onto her back on the sofa in the massive living room to stare up at the chandelier high above their heads. All the candles had been lit but the light did little to brighten the room with its brown carpet, mahogany furniture, maple paneled walls, and somber wall hangings. Little sunlight penetrated past the thick brown velvet drapes Pansy kept drawn across the wide windows.

He sighed. “You know what my mother would say if you showed up at the manor.”

“That I’m an embarrassment and a stain on the precious Malfoy reputation.”

“Once the hero worship of Saint Potter dies down people will forget you made one unpopular comment. You’re a pure-blood; your family has been upstanding, productive wizards and witches for generations and soon you’ll be welcome anywhere you wish to go.”

“I’ll be old by then.”

This time he did roll his eyes. “Merlin. You only turned 22 last week.”

She shrugged and pulled a green silk cushion edged with silver lace onto her stomach.

“I brought you something,” Draco said. “A late birthday present.”

Her brown eyes lit and she tossed the pillow aside as she sat up. “You did?”

Pansy was not strikingly beautiful like the Greengrass sisters or that Weasley girl, but she was pretty enough when she smiled, which was not often. Less often the past four years.

He handed her a small, oblong box wrapped in silver paper.

She ripped it open eagerly, snapping up the lid of the velvet box to see what was inside. It was a silver necklace with a unicorn charm which rippled with a rainbow of colours, changing and flashing in the candlelight from the chandelier. “It’s so pretty.”

“I’m glad you like it.” At least there was one bright thing in this gloomy room.

Her face brightened as she took the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck. She rubbed a thumb over the glittering unicorn then looked up at him through her lashes. “How are you doing, Draco?”

His stomach tightened. “Fine. Great. Spiffing.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. If I were you, I’d have nightmares, too.”

He hesitated. “It isn’t so bad anymore,” he said quietly.

“Do you think the heroes have trouble sleeping the way we all do? Or drink pain potions as if they were pumpkin juice the way Hestia does?”

“Why would they?” Draco gritted his teeth. “I can’t imagine the heroes of the light waste a moment in regret for killing, maiming, and imprisoning wicked Death Eaters.”

“Saint Potter could get away with murder,” she mumbled. “But anyone who says a word against him is vilified until the day they die.”

Draco agreed, but as much as he felt bad for the way Pansy had been made out to be a villain, he had had his fill of her self-pity for the day. Besides, his mother disliked delaying dinner. “I really have to get home.” He stood, hesitated at her forlorn expression, then straightened. “Bye, Pans.”

He let himself out of the Parkinson mansion and paused in the drive to look back at the massive house. The windows were dark. One curtain twitched in the sitting room where Pansy was probably watching him leave. At the back of the house was the room her father passed out in every afternoon; there would be no lights peeking out there. Draco spun on the spot and Apparated home.

Both his parents were already seated at one end of the long dining table, napkins in their laps and wine glasses filled. He mumbled an apology for being late and took his place across from his mother, on his father’s left.

Narcissa watched him sharply but did not ask him where he had been. She probably knew who he had visited, anyway, going by the stern look she gave him. She worked hard to be seen with the right people, hence Potter’s invitation last month along with the Minister, and she did not appreciate his continuing friendship with a witch the winning side and the press shunned.

As soon as he was seated, his mother snapped her wand, a bell tinkled, and the first course was delivered. Silverware clinked against china plates engraved with a silver M that winked on and off. He half listened to his parents’ conversation about their plans for the coming weekend as he ate. He was sopping up the last bit of gravy from his plate with a piece of bread when he heard his mother speak his name. Draco looked up.

“I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow afternoon because we’re having company over for tea.”

Draco swallowed his reluctance to sit through another tense session of verbal sparring with his parents’ friends. “Yes, mother.”

“My sister and her grandson are coming to visit.”

His breath caught. His aunt was dead, and she had no grandchildren. He gaped at his mother.

“Andromeda is bringing her daughter’s boy.” Narcissa’s delicate brow furrowed, then smoothed. “Edward, that’s his name, but she calls him Teddy.”

Draco was puzzled. “Who?”

His father had likewise frozen with his wine glass halfway to his mouth. He set down his goblet and looked fixedly at his wife. “Andromeda Tonks is coming to the manor for tea?”

Tonks? That was the name of that Auror Aunt Bella was so hateful of. Did that mean his mother had invited … but surely not.

Narcissa gave her husband a bright smile. “Yes, dear. My sister, Andromeda.”

“The one who married a mudblood? She's coming to our house?” Lucius stared at his wife.

She nodded, still smiling. “My dear sister is widowed, and it would be a kind gesture on our part to ensure she has family to help her through these difficult times.” She reached across the table and laid one hand on her husband’s arm. “It would please me greatly if you would join us tomorrow.”

He stared at her as his expression slowly softened and then grew thoughtful. “You’re right. It would be a proper gesture on our part to take care of family.”

His mother pressed her advantage. “I’m always right, dear. I was right about inviting Potter and his allies to that lovely function on the anniversary of the battle.”

“It has gotten easier to work with certain people in the Ministry.” Lucius regarded his wife with a mixture of admiration and thoughtfulness.

Draco turned his shocked look from his mother to his father. Was he agreeing to this?

Lucius put his free hand on top of his wife’s where it rested on his arm. “For you, dear, I would of course be pleased to greet your sister and her grandson.” He patted her hand but his brow furrowed. “The child has not inherited his father’s condition, has he?”

“Of course not.” Narcissa gave him a reproachful look. “But it may be prudent on our part to ease the poor boy’s way in the world by helping remove the stigma that such people have endured. It isn’t right that prejudice should taint people’s attitudes to my dear great-nephew.”

Or to us by extension, Draco thought.

His father’s grey eyes reflected this understanding as he smiled at his wife. “We can certainly assist in the fight for justice. It’s simply not proper that a child should be ostracized for something entirely beyond his control.”

Draco shuddered at the memory of Greyback’s boast that he would infect enough children so werewolves could set up their own independent society. Some of those children had been with Snatchers on one of the rare occasions the nasty creature and his band dropped off a terrified prisoner of particular value, the only time he was allowed in the manor’s front door. The kids had looked petrified as well as barefoot, dirty, and hungry.

His actions were an abomination. But to invite a child of one of those victims to the manor – that was taking charity too far. Professor Lupin had dressed like a destitute beggar. How was it even possible Mother entertained the notion of inviting his penniless son to tea and publicly admitting their relationship? They would be a laughingstock.

“A blood traitor? And a werewolf’s whelp?”

Both his parents frowned at his loud voice.

“Your aunt and your cousin,” his mother said. “They’re family.”

“Since when?” He stared in shock. “She _married_ a _mudblood_.” Andromeda’s selfish actions had brought ridicule down on them simply for being related to the Tonks family despite having shunned them his entire life. His parents had endured the shame despite distancing themselves from the contamination, his mother and aunt had bemoaned the loss of their sister who had chosen a filthy muggle-born over her own blood and her heritage, and now it was to be forgotten? Swept aside as though none of that happened?

Narcissa frowned. “Yes, Draco. She’s my sister and she’s coming to visit.”

“You will respect your mother’s wishes and join your family tomorrow,” Lucius said.

“I will not!”

Once, when he had been too young to know better, he had unthinkingly referred to Andromeda Tonks as his aunt. He had been severely punished. His hand twitched at the memory of the pain his father had inflicted for that slip.

Anger boiled through him. “You told me we would never associate ourselves with that woman; that she had sullied the family name and she was beyond redemption.”

His mother’s cheeks pinked. “That’s in the past now. She’s your aunt and you will –”

“The last time I dared call her Aunt it was made clear to me that she was dead to us.”

His father snapped back as if he had been slapped.

Draco looked from parent to another. “Everything we’ve gone through these past years, you said it would all be right in the end, that we’d come through because we only stood for what we believed in.”

“We do stand firm in our beliefs, Draco,” his mother said.

“Then why is a blood traitor suddenly welcomed back like a long-lost relative?” His voice had risen. He almost never raised his voice to his parents anymore.

His father’s pale face flushed an ugly, splotchy red.

Usually, that look elicited a frozen lump of dread in Draco’s stomach but this time he pushed back his chair and leapt to his feet. “You’re both hypocrites. You never even believed in half of what you raised me to believe was truth.”

“How dare you!” Lucius grabbed for the cane that used to house his wand, but his hand closed on an empty shaft with a silver snake’s head that was nothing more than an ornament.

“Forgot that your walking stick is as hollow as your convictions?”

His mother gasped and his father’s face turned ashen.

“Draco! Apologize to your father this instant.”

His mother’s voice cut through the blaze of fury. Cold guilt at having spoken so disrespectfully to his parents made bile rise to the back of his throat. Before he could voice his remorse, his father spoke again.

“We know better than you how to survive in this world and you will not question our judgement.”

Draco’s righteous wrath boiled up again. “I’m not questioning your judgement – I’m following exactly what you taught me: to never associate with blood traitors and those who are beneath us. Even if you don’t follow your own teaching.”

Before guilt could douse his justifiable anger again, Draco spun on his heel and stomped out of the room, out the door of the manor, all the way to the iron gates at the edge of the drive. Then he Apparated away.

~

Draco stood in the darkened street staring at a modest house with a yellow door, the Surrey hills dark peaks in the skyline behind it. There were flowers on either side of the front steps, though their colours were muted to grey in the twilight and their scents subdued by the evening coolness. The dwelling looked small, but the squares of grass on either side of a path from the lane to the front door were neatly kept and tucked behind a short box hedge that separated the grounds from the lane. One front window was lit from within and smoke drifted up from the chimney. He thought he could hear voices and a woman’s laugh.

With one hand clenched tightly on his wand, he marched up to the door and banged on it. There were footsteps, then the door swung inwards. Light from within haloed brown hair and a face so similar to Aunt Bella that he took a step backwards.

But the woman’s eyes widened and he saw they were a soft brown. “Cissy’s boy?”

Anger flooded back. “What did you do to my mother?”

She seemed taken aback by his tone. She slowly looked him up and down, taking in his stance and the wand in his fist. Then she opened the door wider and invited him in.

He blinked several times. She gestured down the corridor in the direction of a brightly lit room from which came the sound of a child’s giggle. She was closing the door behind him before Draco realized he had moved. He stopped in the corridor and frowned at the woman but she only smiled and led the way into her sitting room. He stuffed his wand back in his pocket but his hand was still clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms.

“Who was at the door?” someone in the room asked. He recognized that shrill voice.

Two lamps with fringed black shades sat on a pair of antique tables at either side of a plump sofa to supplement the firelight from the hearth.

The voices and laughing had stopped at his appearance. The snapping and popping of the fire and the ticking of a grandfather clock were the only sounds as the people in the room looked at him and he stared back.

A little boy with curly brown hair and large brown eyes looked at him curiously. “Who are you?” He was sitting on Granger’s lap and she held a jack-in-the-box with a clown head bouncing on its spring and making faces at them.

“This is your cousin, Draco Malfoy,” the woman-who-was-not-Aunt-Bella answered.

The little boy hopped up and rushed forward. He held out his hand. “I’m Edward but you can call me Teddy ’cause you’re family.”

Draco glanced around in alarm, uncertain what he should do. His aunt watched him closely, her expression neutral; Granger, as usual, scowled at him. When he looked at the boy again the child had blond hair slicked back from a pointy face and grey eyes. He still held out one chubby little hand.

Hesitantly, Draco reached out to shake, surprised at how the small fingers disappeared inside his longer ones. The boy smiled. Quickly, Draco let go and wiped his hand on his robe.

“Uncle Harry gave me a broom for my birthday and I can ride it already and I’m gonna be a quidditch star like him when I go to school.”

Several nasty words sprang to Draco’s tongue but, before he could say something a four-year-old should not hear, the boy’s grandmother had taken his hand.

“It’s bedtime, Teddy.”

He screwed up his narrow face. “But you said I could be up late ’cause Auntie Miney is here and now we have more company.”

The older witch put on a stern face though her brown eyes grew even warmer. “You did stay up late because Hermione lets you talk her into putting off bedtime when she babysits. Now, say good night to our company.”

The boy’s face fell but he made no further protest. “Good night,” he said to Draco. Then he ran to put both chubby arms around the young woman on the sofa. “Good night, Auntie Miney.”

“Good night, honey.” She hugged the little boy whose hair was now half blond, half brown.

He came back to take his grandmother’s hand.

“I’ll be back in a few moments,” she said to Draco. Then the two of them disappeared up a long staircase that led off the hall.

Draco stood at the entrance to the sitting room, staring up after them, not sure what to do. He had come to demand answers from the woman-who-was-not-his-aunt but his fury had faded and had not yet been replaced by any emotion he could name.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

The bushy-haired brunette on the sofa was still frowning at him and a comfortable anger flared up. “I want to know what she did to my mother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about my mother all of a sudden throwing out all her principles and inviting that woman to our house.”

Granger’s face reddened. “Mrs. Tonks should have thrown your mother out the moment she showed up at the door here.”

Draco sucked in a breath. “My mother never came here. She wouldn’t step foot in the house of a mudblood.”

She gave him a pointed look and he felt his face heat up at having set foot in that same house.

A smug expression settled on the brunette’s face. “She stopped by Sunday evening and for some unfathomable reason Mrs. Tonks let her into this house.”

He glanced around the firelit room. “Why would my mother come here?”

Granger rolled her eyes. “To visit her sister and beg forgiveness.”

His jaw clenched. “My mother has nothing to be forgiven for. It was that woman who rejected her family and took up with one of your kind.”

The red in the mudblood’s face was unbecoming. “It was your family that rejected her just because Andromeda Tonks is not a prejudiced bitch.”

“It’s not about prejudice; it’s about where you belong.”

The brunette jumped to her feet and stalked toward him. Draco stepped backward. He reached into his pocket to grasp the comforting hardness of his wand.

“I have magic, like you. I have an education in using it, like you, and may I add that I bested you in every subject.”

A point that had been repeatedly thrown in his face by his father throughout his school years. Arrogant bitch.

Hermione crossed her arms. “I am more intelligent than you and frankly I have contributed more to this society than you have. I most certainly belong.”

He ground his teeth. “My family has been part of this world as far back as anyone can remember. We’ve been citizens of wizard society for generations. We built this world. You didn’t even know it existed until you were eleven years old.”

Her eyes blazed. “No, I didn’t. But I’ve worked hard every single moment since to learn everything I can and use it for the right purposes, unlike you.” She poked him in the chest. Her voice had risen to a pitch he could barely hear.

He tried to take another step back but he bumped against the wall behind him. He thought about drawing his wand but he was fairly certain her reflexes were at least as good as his and he did not want to find out what she had learned about curses during the war. “You can’t learn about being a witch from a book. You have to be born a witch to understand.”

“I was born a witch, you prejudiced bastard.” She put both hands on her hips.

He was glad her hands were still where he could see them; if she tried to hex him he would have to be fast.

“You cannot possibly believe that rubbish about muggle-borns stealing magic from 'real' witches and wizards?”

“Of course not.” Did she take him for an idiot? “No one believed that. But having magic doesn’t mean you can push your way into our world and pretend you belong.”

Her breath caught.

“There’s a reason for the Statue of Secrecy, you know. It’s to keep our worlds separate, the way they’re supposed to be. We have our place and you have yours. It keeps everyone safe. I’m sure your family would be happier never knowing we exist and I assure you we are perfectly content for you to stay away from us. The whole bloody war could have been avoided if people like you had just stayed away.”

“That’s not true, you know,” said a calm voice.

His head whipped around to see that the woman-who-looked-like-Aunt-Bella had returned. She carried an empty cup and saucer.

“Come now, both of you sit down.”

The older woman gave Hermione a gentle push and with a huff the witch spun on her heel and sat back down on the sofa. He let go of his wand.

His aunt took his arm and led him to a round stuffed chair beside the fireplace. She filled the cup she had brought from a teapot decorated with red roses, added one spoon of sugar and a bit of cream, and handed it to him before she refilled her own cup and Hermione’s and sat in the other chair next to the fireplace.

Draco sat and stared at the cup in his hand. “That’s how Mother takes her tea.”

The older woman smiled. “I know, dear. Now, you came to ask me a few questions but first we should get something straight: our world and the muggle world are not nearly as separate and distinct as you might believe. Every generation has at least a few muggle-borns and they have every right to take their place among us just as there are witches and wizards who choose to live among muggles.”

He frowned. “There are not.”

“Pure-blood families have always conveniently forgotten about the squibs in their family trees. Small wonder many found a more satisfying life among muggles. Some witches and wizards, too, choose to leave our world for reasons of their own.” She shrugged. “Not everyone agrees with the Statute of Secrecy. They say Merlin himself spent most of his time in close companionship with muggles.”

“That’s not true.” Everyone knew there were squibs who chose to simply disappear and have no further contact with their families, really it was better all around, but no one who had magic would choose to live with muggles. It was absurd.

“It’s a big world out there, much larger than our small magical community. Wizards and witches like my husband and Hermione bring a piece of that wide world back to us and we’re all richer for it.” She smiled at the younger witch. “Hermione especially is a talented and intelligent witch and I’m lucky to know her just as I was lucky to have Ted.” Her soft brown eyes darkened. “Harry, too, grew up in the muggle world yet he’s as powerful a wizard as most who were raised among us.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “The Boy Who Could Do Us All a Favour and Die Now was just lucky.”

“Harry is a great wizard,” Hermione huffed. “We all owe him our lives and you know it.” The bushy-haired witch was glaring at him again. Or still.

“But it’s true, he was lucky.” Andromeda set her teacup aside. “And he had wonderful friends.”

Yeah, everybody loved the arrogant sod. Draco could feel a vein in his forehead pulse.

“Much of what Harry lived through and accomplished was an accident of birth.” The older witch’s gaze was fixed on Draco now. “Just like being a pure-blood is an accident of birth, not any accomplishment of ours.”

His brow furrowed. “But being a pure-blood means you have generations of magical breeding.”

“Which means precisely what?” His aunt tilted her chin and raised one eyebrow.

“It means we’re better.”

Hermione harrumphed and crossed her arms.

His aunt’s laugh startled him. She sounded so much like his mother that he stared.

“You would be hard put to prove you’re better than this young witch at anything except perhaps flying.”

Hermione threw him a triumphant glare.

He glared back and crossed his own arms. Andromeda Tonks really did not resemble Aunt Bella when you looked closer. He wrinkled his nose. “You think we should all go live among muggles?”

Hermione harrumphed again. “What makes you think they’d have you?”

Andromeda sat back. “No, I don’t think witches and wizards should live with muggles.”

The younger witch looked at her with surprise. “You don’t?”

“No. I understand why we have the Statue of Secrecy and I believe it’s for the best.” She sighed. “Ted’s parents came to our wedding, but they seemed even more uncomfortable with me than I felt with them, and I can count on my fingers the number of times they came to see Dora. Never did they invite us to visit them. They shuddered at any pictures I tried to give them saying pictures that moved were too unsettling.” She smiled wanly. “Kind of like I feel when I see their weirdly frozen pictures, I guess.”

“My parents love and support me.” Hermione’s mouth was pressed into a tight line. “They were thrilled to send me off to Hogwarts and they encouraged me in my studies.”

The older witch gave her a sympathetic look. “But what happened before your last adventure with Harry?”

Hermione blanched and Draco looked from one to the other in puzzlement.

“I obliviated them to keep them safe,” she whispered.

He gasped. “You obliviated your own parents?”

Her lips thinned further. “I found them several months after the war and restored their memories.”

Draco gaped at her. It was a tricky bit of magic, and dangerous, but what was shocking was that she had done that _to her parents_. Of course, they were only muggles.

“How did they take that?” Andromeda asked softly.

Hermione shrugged. She glanced at Draco out of the corner of her eye and then stared at the floor. “Things have been a little strained between us.”

“Because you used magic against them and they had no defence,” Andromeda said gently.

“I did it because I loved them.”

She nodded. “They still love you, dear, as much as you love them. But perhaps it’s a bit unfair to expect that using magic on them won’t have changed their view of it.”

“Isn’t that why we should keep muggle-borns out?” Draco’s outburst made both witches turn to him with frowns. “Their families are muggles; they’re never going to understand or accept us.”

Andromeda shook her head. “Hermione has magic. She has the right to use it and we have the responsibility to see that she learns to use it correctly and respectfully.”

Something rattled in his hand. He was surprised to see that he was holding a teacup. He took a sip and made a face; it was cold. He set the cup down, glanced around his aunt’s cozy sitting room, then met her warm brown gaze. “I should go now.” He stood, then looked around again in confusion.

His aunt stood and laid a hand on his arm to steer him to the door. Hermione did not look up or say goodnight.

“Feel free to come back any time,” his aunt said as she opened the outside door. “I know Teddy would like to get to know you.”

He nodded without saying anything.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Draco’s breath caught. They were coming to the manor tomorrow. He nodded again, not sure what other response to make.

The night air was cool on his face after the warm room. He looked up at the dark sky, then down at the flowers on either side of the doorway, folded in on themselves in sleep. Then he Apparated away from the pretty house as quickly as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

“How was tea with the blood traitors last Thursday?” Blaise Zabini sprawled on an elegant Louis XV settee done in Aubusson upholstery.

The picture in the tapestry included a woman and a horse and Draco had never wanted to look closely enough to see what they were doing; the paintings on the walls between tall windows with red velvet window seats were bad enough. Blaise’s mother’s house made him uncomfortable. It was the main reason he would rather they got together at the manor or Theo’s house, or anywhere really.

“Fine.” Draco reached for a canape.

Viola and Zoe interrupted their lovesick gazing at each other long enough to look over curiously.

 “Oh, do tell us more.” Hestia Carrow sat on another settee, a plate of pears topped with cheese and honey in her lap. Even after four years it was odd to see her without Flora at her side in identical light green dress robes.

“I said it was fine.” His aunt had been pleasant company and the child had been well-behaved for a four-year-old or whatever he was. “Teddy’s okay but he talks too much about Potter.”

Blaise raised one dark eyebrow, a smirk on his handsome face. “It must be such an honour to have the Chosen One as your godfather.”

Draco bit into the canape with unnecessary force.

“Isn’t that the wolf whelp of our old professor – what was his name?” Hestia looked toward Millicent and Theo who shared a seventeenth century sofa done in red velvet with black silk roses.

“Lupin.” Theo had a plate with a single slice of prosciutto he had yet to take a bite of.

“Imagine, letting a werewolf teach at a school.” Hestia shuddered and took a dainty bite of pear.

Inwardly, Draco flinched at the memory of having let a far worse creature into Hogwarts. He had not known they would send Greyback, but of course, who better to terrify children? The Dark Lord would have been pleased to grant him free reign in a school, keep him happy for a while until they were done with him. Greyback had been a fool to think his alliance with the Death Eaters would have lasted one moment longer than the day the fighting was done. “Lupin wasn’t so bad.”

The others looked at him in surprise.

“It wasn’t his fault he was that way,” he muttered. “He was better than that monster, Greyback.”

“If you want to consider one wolf better than another, I guess.” Viola tilted her head in thought.

“There’s a difference,” Theo muttered. “You never had to be in the same room as that thing. He’s disgusting and the way he preys on children is horrible.”

Children who were now paying the price and would for the rest of their lives. It made no difference who won the war.

“Well, as long as you had a nice visit with the cub and his mother,” Hestia said.

“Grandmother,” Draco corrected.

“Your dear aunt.” Blaise held up his cut crystal goblet in a toast. Candlelight from an overhead chandelier reflected in the amber liquid. “You’ll be having the Weasleys over for an intimate family dinner next.”

“We’re not socializing with the Weasleys.” Draco scowled at his friend. “They’re her friends, not ours. Poverty will never be acceptable in our company.”

“The Weasleys aren’t exactly poor anymore,” Zoe said.

Viola added a pear to her plate. “If only they didn’t have that horrid hair.”

“Don’t dismiss the family.” Millicent’s thick arm encased Theo’s think shoulders, anchoring the weedy boy to the sofa they shared. “Two of them are big in the Ministry, two are fast becoming the wealthiest business owners in Diagon Alley, and the good-looking one works for Gringott’s. All of them are close with Minister Shacklebolt and they’re especially close with the Saviour of the Wizarding World.”

Draco gritted his teeth at the reference to Saint Potter. “So?”

Millicent pursed her lips in her square-jawed face. “So they’re influential in the new power structure. It doesn’t hurt to be on their good side.” Her thick brow wrinkled. “Are Potter and the Weasley girl split up again? I’ve lost track.”

“They were together at the anniversary celebration.” Blaise took a drink from his goblet.

“Still carrying a torch?” Draco was delighted at the flash of anger in his friend’s usually cool demeanor.

“Hardly.” Blaise’s expression was composed. He sighed dramatically. “Blood traitors running the Ministry. What’s next, a muggle-born Minister?”

“Wouldn’t be the first,” Theo mumbled.

Hestia sat up straight and stared at him. “What did you say?”

Draco rolled his eyes. The Carrows were uniformly unintelligent at best and one or two were certifiably dim-witted. “Leach was the first muggle-born Minister like fifty years ago.”

His grandfather had still been muttering about that appalling lapse of judgement on the part of the voters while he lay on his deathbed.

Hestia gaped like a fish.

“You’re better off socializing with people close to Shacklebolt than with Pansy.” Zoe plucked the pear off Viola’s plate and popped it in her mouth.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

She shrugged. “Pansy is a pariah. Doesn’t matter that I completely agree with what she said about Potter that day, it’s just that she’s really unpopular for saying it.”

“That was a horrible day.” Theo shivered and Millicent brushed a hand against his cheek.

“How would you know?” Hestia sat up straight on the settee, her spine stiff. “You’re a coward who evacuated rather than joining the battle.”

He flinched. The twins had fought side by side. When Flora was killed by that dark-complexioned muggle-born Gryffindor, Hestia had dropped to her knees beside her sister’s body and refused to defend herself or flee.

She glared from Theo to Blaise. “If everyone had stood their ground together, Flora would be alive.” Choking back a sob, Hestia ran from the room.

Theo’s narrow face pinched further as he stared after her. “I should have joined my father instead of following to the evacuation point, but I couldn’t leave Imogene.”

Millicent gave him a little shake. “You’re not a coward for leaving. The whole school was against us, asking us to choose our loyalty like we would shoot hexes and curses at our parents – our families – to protect that crazy Potter.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to be with your father, Theo.” Draco tightened his grip on his plate so his hand would not shake. “You would have ended up dead, like him, or in prison like Marcus, and then what would have happened to your sister?”

“True.” Theo sighed. “But it was damn frightening not knowing what was going on back at the school, knowing Father and Millicent and Greg and the others were in danger. I tried to reassure Imogene, but she could tell I was worried and Pansy was sobbing and screaming we were all going to die.”

Millicent squeezed his shoulder and he flinched. “I’m glad you were safe. It was hellish out there.” Her ruddy complexion paled and her eyes were bleak. “I saw Greg killed by that centaur. He tried to save his father; instead, they both died.”

The reminder of Greg’s death so soon after Vince perished in his own fiendfyre made Draco’s gut churn. Not that they had been his friends in the way Theo and Pansy were his friends, but they knew their place and did their jobs well. It had been months before Draco stopped snapping out orders and then turning to find that neither of them were behind him. He hoped Aurors never caught up to Mr. and Mrs. Crabbe in Norway or Bulgaria or wherever they had fled.

“I was surprised he wasn’t with you,” Zoe said.

Draco hunched over his plate. “We got separated.” Greg had still been unconscious outside the Room of Hidden Things the last time he had seen him alive. Neither of them had a wand, so Draco figured it was better to get help than stay put. He could not carry his friend; that boy was heavy, and the adrenaline rush that made it possible to drag him up onto a pile of desks in the Room had left Draco exhausted.

Then he ran into a Death Eater who was probably about to curse him when someone unseen took down the Death Eater and shoved Draco on top of him. By the time he got out of that situation and returned to the ruined Room, Greg was gone.

“Tracey and Yatin were fantastic duelers,” Viola said. “I wouldn’t have survived except for them.”

“I know.” Zoe pulled Viola’s head onto her shoulder and stroked her hair. “If only Adrian hadn’t trusted that MacLaggan thug to duel fairly, they might have all made it out alive.”

“I think the lot of you are barmy for going into that battle.” Blaise refilled his now-empty goblet. “I was glad our House was the first to the evacuation point and I never looked back. Now, how about we end this depressing reminiscence about a war that ended four years ago?” He flicked his wand and the bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy refilled each of their glasses. He held his goblet up. “To peace and prosperity.”

The other five exchanged a glance, then picked up their glasses and raised them. “Peace,” they echoed.

All six took a long drink. Theo coughed and Millicent patted his back which nearly knocked him off the sofa.

“Do you think Hestia is coming back?” Draco asked.

“Probably not. Any time she’s reminded of her sister she disappears for at least two days.” Viola threaded her fingers with Zoe’s and leaned her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “She’ll smell like an apothecary when we see her next.”

Blaise shrugged. “I’m hoping those pretty Greengrass sisters come by so I can teach them why going out with Ravenclaws is bad judgement on their part.”

“Both of them?” Millicent gave the handsome curly-haired Slytherin an appraising look. “At the same time?”

“I’m flexible.”

“If you can’t have a ginger.” Draco smirked at the second flash of annoyance in his host’s dark eyes.

“Won’t be a problem for you. I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of them soon.” Blaise tilted his head. “Once blood traitors are acceptable, what’s next?”

The brandy burned in Draco’s gut. His family might have accepted Aunt Andromeda but only because she was a blood relation. They were _not_ going to be friendly with that Weasley brood or – Merlin forbid – their mudblood friend.

~

Hermione looked up from her desk and smiled when Harry knocked on the open door. “Come in, Harry. Sit down.” Her smile faded when she realized her extra chair was piled with legislation and case law dealing with werewolves which dated back to 1429.

Harry’s gaze moved across the stacks of parchment and books that covered the floor. He leaned against the door frame and pushed his glasses up. “Good news.”

She gave up trying to clear a spot for him to sit. “What?”

“We caught the Crabbes, both of them.”

The couple had been two of the few Death Eaters still unaccounted for. Harry had tracked them for nearly three years but had only gotten close to catching them once. He was grinning, his shoulders thrown back.

Hermione leaned back in her chair and smiled up at him again. “That’s great. Where were they?”

“Argentina.” He brushed a lock of messy dark hair from his forehead. “We got a tip and this time we got there before they could do a bunk. They’re being held here at the Ministry until their trial which will be sooner than later.”

He looked determined. Even with high priority status, the last trials of Death Eaters captured in the final battle or shortly after had only wrapped up six months ago. Harry had chafed at the repeated delays and it was only Kingsley’s calm leadership that kept him from resigning in frustration.

“Harry.” She hated to squelch the pride currently shining in his green eyes but he was one of the few people she could express her misgivings to. “Do you think it makes a difference?” Her gaze scanned the organized chaos that filled her little windowless office. “All this work to hunt down dark wizards and protect magical creatures and everything that we did, does it matter? If people’s attitudes are never going to change, what’s the point of it all?”

His eyes darkened. “The point is that things are better than they used to be. Voldemort is gone. The worst of his followers are in prison. Crazies like Fenrir Greyback, Rodolphus Lestrange, and that Umbridge witch are never going to leave Azkaban.” His voice hardened and a muscle ticked in his jaw when he mentioned Umbridge. “We have Dolohov and Rowle in prison and now finally the Crabbes are going to join them.”

Hermione straightened the stack of parchment in front of her without meeting his eyes. “Yes, and I’m glad.”

“I wish Yaxley and the Carrows were in there, too, but the fact that they’re still walking around won’t deter me from tracking down and exposing every other dark wizard I can. Nor does it stop me or Kingsley from keeping a close eye on the ones we know were Death Eaters even if we couldn’t prove it to the Wizengamot.”

Hermione did not know how exactly Kingsley and Harry were watching Yaxley, but as long as they were keeping tabs, the head of Magical Law Enforcement would not get away with much. Except contaminate his department with prejudice and intolerance. “I just wish –”

A purple paper aeroplane whizzed into the office past Harry’s ear, knocking his glasses askew. He pushed them back up again with a finger while Hermione unfolded the memo.

She glanced over the contents, read the signature at the bottom, caught her breath, and read it more closely.

“What is it, Hermione?”

She carefully reviewed the memo again. “It’s from Eugenia Fawley.”

His brow furrowed. “Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement?”

She nodded without taking her eyes from the note. “I’ve been trying for weeks to meet with her about changing some of the laws that make it difficult for werewolves, especially children, to go to school or work. According to this memo, the changes I’ve been asking for have been proposed to the legislative review committee and I’m invited to speak to them next Friday.” She stared at the words in wonder for a little longer, but that was definitely the Department’s stamp on official Ministry letterhead.

“Congratulations,” Harry said. “Your efforts paid off. I knew they would. Want to grab a drink to celebrate?”

She looked up at Harry but her thoughts were whirling. She got to her feet and grabbed her cloak.

“We can go to –”

“Sorry, Harry, I have to run.” She weaved her way through the piles of parchment and books, gave Harry a squeeze as she brushed past him in the doorway, and hurried to the lobby.

She passed the towering war memorial without stopping for her customary moment of silence. This early in the afternoon, there were few people coming and going and she went straight to the floo without elbowing her way through the usual crowd.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Granger,” a receptionist called.

Hermione lifted a hand in farewell before she grabbed a handful of green powder and called out for the Tonks residence.

“Mrs. Tonks?” Hermione looked around the empty sitting room. She kept her voice down, knowing Teddy would be a terror if she woke him from his nap.

“Hermione?” The older woman looked surprised as she came down the hall from the kitchen at the back of the house, wiping her hands on an apron she wore over her dress robe. “Shouldn’t you be at work? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, no.” She shook her head. “Is Teddy asleep?”

“For now.” Andromeda sighed. “He’s been waking early. He’s just about done with needing an afternoon nap, but if he goes without it he’s absolutely unbearable by the end of the evening.”

When he was in a temper, Teddy’s hair turned cherry red and his eyes bulged. It was amusing to see but his howls of outrage were deafening.

“Could we talk for a few moments?” Hermione asked.

Puzzlement and worry creased Andromeda’s forehead as she took a seat on one of the round stuffed chairs beside the cold fireplace and gestured for Hermione to do the same. Andromeda folded her hands in her lap.

Hermione twisted a corner of her work robe in her hands, the ticking of the grandfather clock unnaturally loud, and tried to gather her thoughts. Finally she looked up and met the older woman’s warm brown eyes. “I was advised today that the Department for Magical Law Enforcement will consider the amendments I proposed to make it easier for people with lycanthropy.”

“That’s good news.” Andromeda worried expression eased but the puzzlement remained.

“It is and I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but – did you have anything to do with their sudden cooperation?”

“Ah.” Andromeda took a deep breath and settled back in her chair. “I suggested to my sister that she and her husband might demonstrate their charitable natures by supporting anti-discrimination against werewolves, especially considering our family connections.”

Hermione saw how the pieces fit together. Andromeda and her sister had reconciled and suddenly the Malfoys had an interest in encouraging change. “So all my research, all the memorandums and reports I submitted that showed how unfair the current legislation is, was pointless. The word of a single pure-blood family meant more.”

“The Malfoy family – and mine – have been influential in this world for a long time. We’re related to every other pure-blood family in wizarding Britain and many of those in other countries. We know who is most likely to be able to make something happen, or stop it from happening. That’s simply a fact of life.”

“And I’ll never have that kind of influence because of who I am. Or rather what I am.”

“Oh, honey.” Andromeda’s expression was troubled. “You underestimate yourself.”

“I’m realistic. Every year that passes since we defeated Voldemort makes me realize this world is unfair and that’s never going to change. Maybe I should go back to ‘where I belong’ and live with my parents.”

Andromeda tilted her chin and regarded Hermione with a calculating expression. “From what I know – which admittedly is little – things aren’t that different in the muggle world. Those with power negotiate among themselves to get what they want. More often than not, they align their interests so they win and a lot of other people lose and never even know it.”

Hermione paused. She had not spent much time in her parents’ world since she began school but it did seem that those in power stayed in power and never questioned that they belonged at the top. Her mother made no secret of the fact that her husband earned more than she did despite her having more professional certifications than him. There was no shortage of assumptions made about people in the muggle world for any number of differences that people decided were important.

“Would you go back, Hermione?” Andromeda asked. “Would you live in that world under the restrictions we impose on the use of magic outside our own little sphere?”

“I probably wouldn’t fit in.” Hermione stared at the floor. “At dinner last Sunday, Mom dropped a dish. I pulled out my wand to repair the broken plate and my parents both flinched, like I was going to use my wand on them. They haven’t been comfortable since,” she waved her hand abstractedly, “you know.” It had been gut-wrenching to remove their memories, to see all the evidence of her childhood erased while she watched, and the guilt had nearly overwhelmed her, especially as she had never known for certain they were in danger.

The older witch nodded. “Magic can be wonderful, but having been on the receiving end of a spell they’re understandably more wary.”

“So I should cut them out of my life now?”

“No,” Andromeda said. “I think it’s wonderful that you’ve accepted your parents’ forgiveness and that you’re still in touch with them. At times, I wish Teddy had more contact with his muggle grandparents but I fear with Ted gone we’ll never be close. I regret that, but I also understand why there are laws that keep us from mingling freely among muggles.”

Hermione slumped in her chair. “I don’t fit in here and I can’t go back. I’ll never win, will I?”

“You won’t if you give up, no.” Andromeda’s mouth was set in a firm line and her gaze was narrow. “You’re one of the most determined young witches I have known in my lifetime. You are intelligent and dedicated and brave and resourceful. You were instrumental in the defeat of the darkest wizard in living memory and you work tirelessly to make things better for creatures with magic, and I include wizards and witches in that description.”

“But the pure-bloods still outrank me, don’t they?” It was so unfair. “And they’ll never change.”

“How insulting.”

Shame uncurled in Hermione’s chest at the injured expression on her host’s face. A woman who had married a muggle-born and was raising a grandson her family considered an abomination. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you.”

“I would hope you’re sorry.” Andromeda sat stiffly, her lips pursed. “Might I remind you that two of your best friends are also pure-bloods.”

At times Hermione forgot the Weasley family was pure-blood, it was so easy to equate that term with arrogance and prejudice. Luna was another example, too, and Neville, and Kingsley, and Molly’s family, and Mr. Ollivander.

It was the Death Eaters and Voldemort’s sympathizers that were the problem. They were supposed to be dead or in prison, like Umbridge, not heading departments in the ministry like Yaxley. But Yaxley had a powerful family to shield him and Umbridge had not. How was Hermione going to make real change when people like Yaxley were set against her?

Andromeda watched her thoughtfully. “I know how we can start to break down those walls – let’s have Narcissa Malfoy work with you on a charity fundraiser.”

Hermione’s stomach churned unpleasantly. “I don’t think so.”

One smooth brown eyebrow arched. “You’ve told me repeatedly that the ingredients for Wolfsbane Potion are prohibitively expensive and most schools and parents will be unable to provide them for their children.”

“Yes, but once the laws change –”

“Eventually the costs will come down, yes. But meantime if you started a foundation and raised funds to provide the potion at a nominal cost to any child who needed it, your program would be more popular and easier to start because you’ll have funding available.”

“Yes, but – Narcissa Malfoy? She wouldn’t willingly be in the same room with me. What if I touched something?” Hermione wondered if the woman had her elves and servants still scrubbing every wall, chair, plate, and glass Hermione might have touched during the party two weeks ago.

Andromeda sighed and then met her eyes steadily. “Narcissa respects a talented, strong witch. If she spends time with you, those traits will earn her respect and her respect will earn you a good deal of acceptance in pure-blood circles.”

“What if I don’t want to work with her?”

A corner of the older woman’s mouth twitched. “You respect intelligence, strength, and loyalty and I think you’ll find that Narcissa has all of those.”

Intelligent and talented, yes, but loyal to the wrong side. She had not lifted a finger to help when Hermione was in Bellatrix’s clutches. And she had shunned Andromeda, her own sister, for years. “She’s been horrible to you. How can you forgive her?”

There was a flash of pain in Andromeda’s brown eyes but it was doused with tender warmth. “She’s my sister. I have few family left, and I won’t waste time unnecessarily prolonging my own pain in revenge for past wrongs.”

For a long moment, the younger woman stared at her, awed by her willingness to forgive and to change. Andromeda Tonks, whose family had been more fanatically pure-blood than even the Malfoys, had fought past ingrained intolerance.

Percy had changed his mind, too. He had thought everything through and concluded for himself that the Ministry was wrong sometimes. People could change. Especially with Kingsley as Minister. He was on her side, Harry was on her side. She had friends inside the Ministry and outside that would help her make things better.

If that conceited, bigoted witch agreed to work with a lowly muggle-born, Hermione would do the same. Especially if it poked a few holes in the ridiculous pure-blood conceit. “I’ll do it.”

“Auntie Miney?” Teddy stood in the hallway, rubbing his eyes with one hand, the other grasping his stuffed purple dragon. His cheeks were flushed and his hair stood up at the back. A broad smile spread across his face as he rushed to clamber into her lap.

“Hi, honey.” Hermione smoothed his hair down as it transformed to brown and curly. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

She wrapped her arms around the warm little body and squeezed. Teddy was a reminder of the children who suffered from the same affliction Teddy’s father had, most of them victims of Greyback. They could never be cured, but they could lead productive lives with only a few accommodations. Her school program helped, and it could be even more successful with sufficient funding. She could do that. She could even work with Narcissa Malfoy to make it happen. And if she broke down a few walls doing so, all the better.

~

Draco watched Teddy execute the entire set of practice exercises on his training broom without missing a step before landing on a patch of grass in the back yard of the neat little house where Draco’s mother was visiting Andromeda. Apparently Draco had been asked along so he could babysit. The home of his new blood traitor relations was a far cry from the manor Andromeda Black had grown up in, although the mudblood she married probably thought this place was the height of luxury.

He still did not understand why they were here. His family had finally – finally – rid themselves of the taint which had smeared the Malfoy name since his father’s disastrous liaison with the Dark Lord. A shiver crawled up his spine at the memories that haunted his nightmares. But the nightmare was over and with the years of scorn and public humiliation behind them, the Malfoys were back where they belonged, being treated with the respect they had earned over generations, and now they were associating with blood traitors.

 “I did it!” The child grinned broadly as he landed without a stumble and hoisted his small broom in the air with one hand, his blond curls bouncing when he jumped up and down. Teddy looked frighteningly like Draco’s own baby portraits with hair that colour.

He turned his gaze up to the sky. They had been outside long enough for the cloud-shrouded sun to drop significantly lower and move the faint shadow of the Tonks home to cover the bit of yard.

When he looked back at Teddy, he frowned to see the boy’s face scrunched up and knees crossed as he hopped from one foot to the other. It looked an awful lot like –

“I have to pee,” Teddy said.

Draco glanced in horror at the house, not sure where the bathroom even was. He grabbed the boy’s hand and hauled him inside as quickly as possible. The hallway was narrow and dim, a contrast to the bright firelight from the sitting room which outlined a square of faded oriental carpet.

His mother’s voice came from the room. “I would be pleased to help you, Droma, but do I have to work with that –”

“Don’t say it.”

He could hear his mother wrinkle her nose. “I don’t use language like that. But is it necessary for me to work with _her_?”

“You’ll find her quite competent.”

There was a sniff of distaste. “I don’t doubt her credentials. I heard endlessly about her school smarts, but it will take fortitude for a muggle-born to move in these circles. We’ll need to encourage the suitably wealthy to attend for this event to raise sufficient funds. Her upbringing has done nothing to prepare her and they’ll tear her down for every little misstep.” He could hear a shudder. “What if she dresses the way she did at the victory commemoration?”

“Hermione is a strong and determined young witch.”

He stopped in the doorway of the sitting room.

His mother’s expression showed reluctant admiration. “I know. I’ve witnessed that first hand.”

Strong enough to withstand torture. That was one of the memories Draco had no wish to dwell on.

Teddy let go of his hand to grab two fistfuls of his trousers and danced a bit more. His hair was quickly changing to an ugly shade of yellow. Both women looked up from where they sat on the plump sofa. Their amused smiles were chillingly similar.

“He …” Draco pointed rather than putting the situation into words.

Andromeda got up, her lips still twitching. “Teddy must have been having a good time if he refused to come in until he could barely hold back.”

The boy made no response, face scrunched in concentration. His grandmother hustled him down the hall. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“How was your afternoon?” Narcissa was still smirking at him.

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Okay.” It had not been a total waste of his time. He had managed to correct most of the horrendous errors in broom technique Potter had foisted on the boy. “Are we leaving soon?” he asked, looking around the room rather than at his mother.

The drapes in the front room were open and an expanse of cloudy sky was visible above the rooftops across the street. The room was tidy and the furniture looked comfortable and sturdy. The fireplace warmed the air just enough to be pleasant.

“Not quite yet.” Narcissa patted the sofa beside her. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable for a little while.”

There was a plate of biscuits on the short table in front of the sofa beside a pitcher of juice and a picture book. An overweight hippogriff with an annoyingly bright smile and human-looking perfect white teeth waved from the cover page.

Draco shuddered. Hippogriffs were vicious creatures with nasty sharp beaks. “I’ll stand.”

Narcissa sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “These people are family.”

What would Aunt Bella think to hear her sister say that?

When Andromeda returned with her grandson, Teddy had changed his outdoor playclothes for a soft shirt and trousers with red, blue, and yellow elephants. A stuffed purple dragon was under his arm.

“It’s Teddy’s naptime but I told him he could have a biscuit and a glass of pumpkin juice with his great-aunt and his cousin first.” Andromeda gave Teddy a fond smile.

“Read me a story, Auntie Cissy?” His hair was blond again and when he blinked his wide eyes changed from brown to a deep blue.

Andromeda chuckled. “She’s Aunt Narcissa and say ‘please’.”

“Please read a story, Auntie Nawsissy?” he pronounced carefully. He glanced at his grandmother who gave him a tiny nod of approval.

Narcissa nodded once and Teddy clambered up on the sofa next to her expensive dress robe, biscuit in hand. She made no effort to brush the crumbs from her skirt as he pointed to the first picture and explained that the story was about a talking hippogriff.

Draco blinked several times before he tore his eyes away from the odd scene. He caught the twinkle in his aunt’s face and quickly averted his gaze from her, too. A portrait of a fair-haired man with a big belly watched him with arms akimbo. He had a feeling that judgemental gaze was usually much friendlier. Hurriedly, he looked away again.

On the middle shelf of a glass-fronted cupboard with rows of framed pictures interspersed with delicate cup-and-saucer sets was the photo of a young woman. She had dark twinkling eyes in a heart-shaped face surrounded by short spiky hair of a startling bubble-gum pink.

He moved closer, unable to look away from the picture. He was so engrossed in staring at the laughing face that he nearly jumped when his aunt’s shoulder brushed his.

“Your cousin, Dora,” she said.

He glanced at Andromeda out of the corner of his eye but her gaze was fixed on the picture.

“An Auror.” He cleared his throat. How many times had the woman in the photo faced off against his father until his aunt – their aunt – beat her in their last duel? Should he say he was sorry he had not known her?

“I hoped she would go into magical law but she had no interest in working in an office.” Andromeda sighed. “Her father was so proud of her. He used to tease me about how much I worried about her, said she was one of the best at her job, and she was, but even so.” His aunt cleared her throat. “Dora was an only child, like you. We wanted to have more children but it wasn’t to be.” She turned from the picture to look at him. “I always expected Cissy to have two or three children.”

He swallowed. “There was a pregnancy before me, I’m told, but she lost the baby.” What a stupid word that was, lost; although miscarriage was not much better – like it was a mistake his mother had made. “I remember her being sick in bed for a month when I was small. I didn’t know what was wrong, but later I learned there had been another pregnancy.” A girl, they said. She would have been his little sister and he could have taken care of her the way Theo looked after Imogene.

“Oh.” His aunt’s usually warm brown eyes were heavy with regret. “That must have been hard for Cissy. And for you, to be an only child. I grew up with sisters and cousins. I regretted that my daughter had neither.”

Except she had a cousin, but he had been barely aware of her existence. He had not even known her name until he heard his father cursing it. He wondered if she had known his.

Andromeda looked toward the couch. Teddy leaned against Narcissa and she had one arm around him. His eyes were partly closed. They were brown again and his hair was a mix of blond and brown stripes. The crumbs on his chin and on Narcissa’s skirt showed he had had his biscuit and his glass of juice was half empty.

“Naptime, Teddy,” Andromeda said.

His eyes popped open and he pushed himself upright. “I haven’t finished my juice, Nanna.”

“Then drink up. It’s time to sleep.”

The boy took a tiny sip from his glass, set it back, and blinked up at Draco’s mother. “Another story?”

“Teddy.” Andromeda had both hands on her hips. “Bed.”

“I want to drink my juice first.” When he frowned his face screwed up and his nose stretched out to a point.

“Teddy.” Narcissa brushed a lock of brown hair away from the boy’s face. “If you listen to your grandmother and go to bed now, you can visit our house tomorrow and I’ll show you the horses.”

His face cleared and his eyes widened. “Horses?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “And dogs and peacocks and cats.”

“Is there a dragon, too?”

Her mouth twitched. “No, no dragon.”

“A hippogriff?”

Draco snorted and rubbed his arm.

His mother shuddered. “No. No hippogriff. But you might see a nightingale.”

The little boy looked at his grandmother. “Can we go?”

“Juice. Bed,” she said firmly. “If you go right to sleep we’ll talk after your nap.”

He leaned forward and picked up the glass, downed the last of the pumpkin juice, then put both chubby arms around Narcissa and squeezed. “’Bye. I’ll see you when we visit.”

She hugged him back. “Sleep well.”

Teddy clambered off the couch and headed toward his grandmother.

To Draco’s surprise, the child stopped and threw his arms around Draco’s waist. “’Bye, Cousin Draco.”

After a startled look at his mother who merely raised an eyebrow, he awkwardly patted the boy’s back. Narcissa smirked at his discomfort with the child’s show of affection. Andromeda, too, appeared to be holding back a laugh as she picked Teddy up and carried him out of the room.

Narcissa came to stand beside Draco. “He’s a lovely child.” She looked at the picture of Nymphadora Tonks. “I hear his mother was quite a successful Auror. One of the best, they say.”

Draco gaped. Was that admiration in her voice? That woman could have killed his father. She certainly tried to take down Aunt Bella. “She was a blood traitor. Her whole family are blood traitors.”

“I know.” His mother grasped his hand. “The funny thing is, I think Bella would have quite liked her if they’d been on the same side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas (bannedfrompencils and bornfrom-theashes) have reviewed the entire draft so I can say for certain there are 9 chapters in all, although 9 is somewhat of an epilogue, and I will post them regularly after my final review.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read and especially those who left kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

Draco entered the manor house after his practice flying and workout at the same as his father escaped to the formal sitting room, financial papers in hand. It was an uncomfortable place to sit and read, just off the main hall opposite the heavy door with brass handles that _used_ to be their formal sitting room. _(That_ room was sealed and warded and as far as Draco knew not one living creature – human, elf, mouse, or insect – had entered it in four years. A shiver crawled up his spine at the cold that leaked through the crack under the wooden door.) The place his father was headed was a large, drafty room with the oldest and most valuable pieces of furniture, which were the least comfortable being that they predated modern warming and custom fit charms by more than a century.

Until two months ago, his parents typically spent their afternoons availing themselves of the comforts in the family sitting room next to the conservatory while his father read the financial papers in his favourite chair and his mother read the most recent bestseller from Flourish & Blotts. Recently, his father had been forced to abandon such peaceful luxuries to avoid his wife’s current companions and their endless tedious plans to raise money for little werewolves which had been beneath his family’s notice not long ago. If his father was ducking into the formal sitting room, his mother must be closeted with his newfound aunt and possibly her mudblood sidekick.

The odd thing was that Lucius seemed content with the arrangement. He may have had made questionable decisions in the past about loyalty and which side best represented the family’s interests, but he had never wavered about who was acceptable company and who was not. Werewolves were creatures not fit for the company of trueborn wizards, along with blood traitors and mudbloods. Now, the Malfoy patriarch said nothing about his wife plotting alongside representatives of two of those groups to raise money and sympathy for the third.

Lucius arched one patrician brow at Draco’s expression. “Yes, your mother and her guests are working in the morning room.”

Guests. Plural. “Mother’s been spending a lot of time in their company.” He swallowed. That was dangerously close to criticism.

His father’s gaze narrowed. “Your mother’s charity work has gone a long way toward redeeming our family in the eyes of those who take a dim view of our activities during the war.”

“Since when do we care what those people think?” It was risky, provoking his father’s ire, but damn it after everything they had done – he had done – in the name of family honour how could the rules suddenly change?

Lucius merely rested both hands on his cane and met his son’s angry gaze. “Wealth goes only so far. The world is firmly on Potter’s side these days and we will be, too. As Narcissa has pointed out, her connection to Andromeda Tonks is a boost to our reputation right now as is our support of such a worthy charity as the Society for the Protection and Equality of Werewolves. Children are always a sympathetic cause.” The hint of a smile curled his lip. “In fact, once you’ve cleaned up you can join them and offer your help.”

Resentment clawed up Draco’s throat but he swallowed the bitterness. “Yes, Father.”

When he got up to his room, he threw his new broom into a corner where it knocked down a stack of books on advanced alchemy he had gotten for his birthday. They crashed together to the carpet with a series of thumps, pages crumpled under twisted covers. He had plans to meet his friends this afternoon, not waste time assisting _those people_ with their stupid project.

Not that he hated every minute of his aunt’s company; in fact, her stories about her rather unconventional family were quite amusing. Sometimes he was sorry he had not known her and his adventurous cousin earlier. And he agreed with their efforts to help the children Greyback had targeted as recruits for his werewolf army. Draco had witnessed enough of that animal’s cruelty to feel profound sympathy for his victims. But sod it all, how could his parents preach pure-blood values to him since birth, swear their loyalty to the Dark Lord and what he stood for, pledge their lives and his own to the Death Eaters, and then decide that blood traitors were perfectly acceptable after all? It made everything they had suffered, everything they had risked, pointless.

He pulled off his sweat-soaked practice robes with enough force that a seam ripped. Ignoring the tear, he threw his clothes to the floor and marched into his private bath. He charmed the water to the highest degree of heat he could stand and simply stood under the spray with one hand braced against the wall. Finally, he scrubbed and then toweled off and dressed. Not clothing he would wear to a meeting with wizards and witches who mattered, but expensive enough to make his social position clear to their “guests.”

He made his way down to the first floor and pushed open the door to the family salon. Andromeda and Narcissa sat in two high-backed chairs with thick, flower-patterned cushions which faced the fireplace. Between them on a small table was treacle tart on a silver tray. Their proximity made their resemblance more noticeable, though Andromeda had a rounder face and her dark brown hair showed strands of grey. Sometimes when he caught sight of her he thought it was Aunt Bella, but when he looked closer the likeness was only superficial. Perhaps, if Bella had never been sent to prison, she may have had the same warmth in her eyes and fullness in her cheeks. Or maybe her dedication to the Dark Arts would have made her features gaunt and her eyes hard anyway.

The third occupant of the room was seated on a sofa lit by late afternoon sunlight falling through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall. In front of her was a small table covered with parchment, quills, and ink. He suppressed a groan. She had been here a dozen times now over the course of the last two months. His mother did not even bat an eye anymore and there was no longer a decontamination scrubdown of the room after she left. At dinner last week his mother had even made a comment that had sounded nearly complimentary about the mudblood. The one bright spot was that his father’s disparaging remarks about his school performance had entirely stopped since his mother’s offhand comment about how it was unfortunate for the students of his year to have competed against one of such “rare brilliance.”

Hermione Granger was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. She paused to chew the end of her quill, then crossed something out before scribbling again. Sunshine from the window behind her haloed the bushy mass that had tamed down since first year but still spiked out from her head, nearly blonde where the sun touched it and every shade of brown elsewhere depending on how the light hit. Her practical work clothes, economical even for a low-level ministry employee, were a far cry from his mother’s expensive dress robes or even his aunt’s high-quality attire. Granger’s fingers were ink-stained and there was a smudge on her nose.

She consulted a page of notes, frowned, and asked without looking up, “Tickets for the fundraiser will be seventy-five galleons a plate?”

His mother broke off her conversation with Andromeda and glanced at the younger witch. “If one can’t afford that, then it isn’t someone we want to attend.”

“There are many who’ll pay it without blinking an eye, I promise,” his aunt added.

His mother’s gaze fell on him standing in the doorway. “Oh, Draco dear, thank you for joining us.”

He came further into the room.

His aunt smiled warmly. “It’s nice to see you, Draco.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione muttered in greeting before bending over her notes again.

“Good afternoon, Mother, Aunt Andromeda.” His gaze slid sideways in the direction of the sofa. “Granger.” There was no way he was going to address her as Miss.

“We were just discussing entertainment for the upcoming charity dinner.” His mother indicated her sister and herself. “You can help Miss Granger with the press release.”

He was struggling to come up with an acceptable excuse to refuse to work with the annoying know-it-all when he saw the look of horror on her face. He smirked. “Of course, Mother.”

The two sisters resumed their conversation as he took a seat on the sofa. Granger clenched her jaw and sidled away, her quill scratching across her parchment again.

He peered over her shoulder. “Too much detail. You want to capture their interest, not bore them to tears.”

She glared sideways at him. “I’m trying to educate them on the ways the law is used to discriminate against werewolves.”

“They don’t give a fig and they won’t donate to a cause that accuses them of oppression and bigotry.”

She opened her mouth and drew breath to argue.

“Even if it’s true,” he muttered.

Her eyes narrowed on his face. “Don’t pretend you’re aware of how prejudiced your kind is about creatures lesser than you.”

“My kind? Who’s prejudiced now?” He kept his voice down, not wanting his mother to hear him arguing with the holier-than-thou mudblood. “You’re not doing this for those children. You want to be accepted and you know you never will be, so you pretend this is about making people accept the kids when you’re as much an outcast as they are.”

A red flush crept up her neck. She lifted a hand and poked him in the chest with one ink-stained finger. “You’re only doing this because your mother told you to.”

It hurt where she jabbed him but at least it was not her wand. “You’re right. I do everything I’m told. I followed the rules, obeyed my parents, carried out my orders even when I was supposed to die in the attempt. It was you lot that broke the rules and always came out heroes. The Golden Trio who could do no wrong.” He smacked her hand away. “But for your information, I feel badly for those kids.”

Her eyes widened. “Why would you give a rat’s arse about those children?”

An image of Fenrir Greyback flashed in front of his eyes, blood dripping down the hairy chin and fangs bared. He suppressed his shudder but his voice was gravelly. “I’ve seen things. I know …” He hesitated. Talking about it only made the nightmares worse. Anger surged up at the pity in Hermione’s eyes. “I just think those kids deserve better,” he snapped. “And your stupid essay is not going to convince people to donate money to make things better.”

He snatched her quill and began scratching out half of what she’d written. When she made no move to stop him or say anything else, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The angry flush had faded from her skin and she was watching him with her brow furrowed the way it was when she concentrated on schoolwork.

The sun was warm on the back of his neck. He could feel sweat gather under his white-blond fringe of hair.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

“What?” She was especially annoying when he did not follow what she was talking about.

Hermione watched him closely, head tilted to the side. “Kingsley promised the Death Eaters would go to Azkaban.”

Draco went cold all over despite the heat of the sun through the window behind him. He had a flashback of the furniture in the drawing room pushed to the sides to make room for one long table with two rows of solemn, silent faces around it. She had a knack for bringing up the stuff of nightmares.

“But Yaxley never went to prison, or the Carrows, or your father. Every one of them has the Dark Mark.” Her voice was strangely calm. Usually by this point in their conversation she would be shouting at him, her eyes snapping fire, but instead she was regarding him with an uncomfortably penetrating stare.

“You know the Mark is inadmissible as evidence.” A brilliant piece of legal manoeuvering that had been. If Dumbledore were still around – another nightmare flash at that thought – Yaxley would never have gotten away with it

Her teeth ground together. “It’s clear proof someone is a Death Eater.”

“It could have been taken under the Imperius curse.”

She made a rude sound.

He was glad his father had not been forced to fall back on that excuse a second time. “Or the brand could be twenty years old. Would you convict a witch or wizard for a mistake they made – or were forced to make – twenty years ago? That’s hardly fair.” And as long as Death Eaters refused to testify against each other about more recent transgressions, the law agreed that the mere existence of the Mark was insufficient to convict a person.

“There was other evidence.” Hermione crossed her arms.

A drop of ink landed on the parchment and he put down the quill to try scouring away the blot. It made a smeary mess. He scrubbed at it without looking up. “The Wizengamot held trials. Lots of Death Eaters were convicted. Lots had to pay restitution.”

“The worst ones were supposed to go to prison.”

His hands stilled. “The worst or the most expendable?” Draco met her gaze. “I know who sat around that table. None of Voldemort’s inner circle are in prison. Except Rodolphus, but everyone knew he was insane. If everyone who supported the Dark Lord were locked up, there would be precious few pure-bloods left and the Ministry couldn’t have that, could they?”

A muscle in her jaw ticked. “The Carrows should have gone to Azkaban.”

He tipped his head to the side. “But they weren’t involved in the war. They were respectable professors during that time; teaching classes, helping frightened youngsters make it through dark times.”

She frowned. “You know that’s not true. That isn’t what was happening at Hogwarts that year.” Her voice rose. “If you came forward and told the Wizengamot what was really going on in seventh year, they’d believe you.”

From the corner of his eye he saw his mother’s head turn in their direction at Hermione’s shrill tone. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not part of this world.”

“I’m a witch. I am a part of this world and better at magic than you are.” She jumped to her feet.

“I knew more about magic before I could walk than you did at the age of eleven.”

“Yet I beat you in every subject.”

He barely refrained from reaching for his wand and hexing that arrogant sneer from her face as he leaped up from the sofa. “You pretentious bitch. You’re nothing but a dirty mudblood.”

“Draco.”

His blood froze at his mother’s sharp reprimand. He realized both he and Hermione were standing toe to toe and shouting. She must have realized the same thing because she flushed an ugly, blotchy red at finding both older witches frowning at them.

The outrage in his aunt’s face was nearly as daunting as the disappointment and embarrassment in his mother’s. He bit back the frustration that scorched his gut.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lucius stood in the doorway, a thunderous expression on his face.

Narcissa looked at her husband. “Our son insulted Miss Granger and he used language which is inappropriate in polite company.”

“Miss Granger is a guest in our home and a close friend of your aunt, Draco. You will apologize to her.”

He felt his mouth drop open. He stared from his father, who had just demanded that a Malfoy apologize to a lowly muggle-born, to his mother, who was taking that obnoxious chit’s side over him. “I will not.”

His father lifted his chin and stared down the length of his sharp nose. “You will do as I tell you.”

Not long ago Draco would have cringed at being the recipient of that furious look. Right now he was too angry to care. “I _am_ doing exactly what you told me. You told me we would never set eyes on the blood traitor who is suddenly my beloved, long-lost aunt. You told me muggle-borns were not fit to serve in the kitchen let alone be in our presence. I believed that stuff. I believed all of it.”

“You’re too young to understand,” Narcissa said sharply.

Lucius’s scowl grew even more ominous. “We know better than you how this world works. When you’re older you’ll understand that we’ve only done what’s best for this family.”

Bile burned the back of Draco’s throat. “All you care about is our social standing and paying lip service to whoever offers you power.”

The blood drained from his father’s face.

His mother gasped. “Draco, you will not speak to your father that way. The world is not black and white and you know nothing of how hard we have worked to provide the best for you.”

“ _I_ know nothing? Do you even know what I went through because I followed your rules? Do you care that I almost died believing everything you taught me was truth and not simply a convenience?” Guilt stabbed through his white-hot fury at his parents’ stricken looks but he refused to let go of the burning anger. They were hypocrites who did not care what he suffered.

“You’re not being fair to your parents.” Andromeda frowned at him. “Things are not as simple as that.”

How dare his aunt criticize him after the ridicule and shame she had brought on them all. He shouldered his father out of the way and fled down the hall.

He was on the terrace at the back of the house, pacing back and forth, oblivious to the scents of roses and sounds of birds that usually calmed him, when he heard footsteps approach the tall open doors from the house to the gardens. It was neither his father’s heavy tread nor his mother’s heels but he was shocked nevertheless when it was Hermione Granger who appeared on the threshold, arms crossed and brow furrowed as she stared him down.

“You still owe me an apology.”

“Go to hell.” He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her. “Or better yet, go back where you came from. Your kind causes nothing but problems. You should have stayed with those creatures who raised you.”

The blotchy red of her face really was unflattering. “Those creatures are people, good people. Good, honest, decent, law-abiding, tax-paying, responsible, hard-working human beings who are more of a benefit to society that the homicidal maniacs you admire.”

“Muggles are not human.”

“Muggles are most certainly human beings.” There was that screechy voice he remembered well. “Intelligent human beings who know that killing is wrong, unlike your Death Eater pals.”

“If they’re so great why are you here annoying us and not back with them?”

“This world is my home, you arrogant bigot, despite how your mask-wearing genocidal role models tried to push me out of it. The lot of them should be rounded up and thrown into the deepest hole in Azkaban.”

“Yes, that’s much better than killing. So kind of your side to simply sentence people to a lifetime of torture.”

“Death Eaters are not people.”

He rolled his eyes. “You think muggles are people and the Death Eaters who tried to keep our worlds separate are not? Muggles are clueless, completely unaware of the magic around them. It’s better for all if we keep them ignorant; safer for them and safer for us.”

“By killing and enslaving them?”

“No.” He had had his fill of that drivel when the Dark Lord was situated in his home, encouraging and rewarding that insanity. “They should just be kept away from us. Their smaller brains are not equipped to handle knowledge of magic.”

“Oh, please.” Now she rolled her eyes. “Your knowledge of the muggle world wouldn’t fill a thimble; don’t pretend you know anything about them.”

“Then don’t pretend you know anything about Death Eaters.”

“I know they can’t possibly be loving parents and decent citizens and still support a homicidal maniac with delusions of world domination.”

She was so ignorant. “My parents love me very much and they are decent, upstanding citizens who are respected in the wizarding world. And Theo’s dad loved him and his sister more than anything, just like Hestia and Flora were devoted to each other.”

Her contemptuous expression wavered at the mention of the twin sisters. She probably remembered them from those stupid Slug parties.

“Greg may not have been the smartest student in Slytherin, but he knew his place and he was loyal and Vince –” Embarrassingly, Draco’s voice cracked on the name. It had been more than four years and they had quarrelled at the end, but it had been an awful way to die and guilt for taking him into the Room of Hidden Things still stabbed. “You really don’t know anything about any of them, so don’t presume to decide who’s human and who isn’t.”

Her mouth opened and closed but thankfully her annoyingly shrill voice stayed silent.

“Now, if you don’t mind I have to bid you a good day.” He gave her a mocking bow. “I’m on my way to visit a few friends of mine, homicidal maniacs and the like, so you can run back to your oh-so-perfect hero friends and tell yourselves how much better you all are.”

“Wait.”

She had grabbed his arm and shock kept him from shaking off her hand immediately.

“Can I come with you?”

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re wrong and they’re wrong and I can prove it.”

She was so smugly sure she had the answers, that she had learned everything there was to know about an entire society through her school books and a couple friends, one of whom had been raised by muggles himself.

Her hand was still clutching his arm. He pulled away. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“The war is over, Malfoy. It’s time we sat down and talked with each other. You and your friends need to hear what I have to say.” Her gaze narrowed. “Besides, I took down the most powerful dark wizard in living memory with the help of two teenagers. Don’t mess with me.”

He hid a shudder. Weasel was all bluster and Potter was arrogant and unbelievably lucky but she was a force to be reckoned with. Maybe he should warn his friends he was about to drop Hermione Granger in their midst. But no, giving fair warning was hardly a Slytherin thing to do.

~

When they landed outside another manor house that rivaled the Malfoy mansion in size, also surrounded by enough greenery and gardens to be Hyde Park, Hermione felt a jolt of misgiving. It had been a spur-of-the-moment, not-well-researched decision to request Draco Malfoy of all people to Apparate her to an unknown location with a bunch of probable Death Eaters waiting inside. Her hasty excuses to Mrs. Tonks about working on the press release later had not explained what she was doing or even who she was leaving with. Not that she could back out now, which would look entirely too cowardly. Now she had to brazen it out.

“Whose cozy cottage is this?” she asked, staring up at five stories of diamond-paned windows in massive turrets.

“Welcome to Nott Manor.”

He made a mock bow and she eyed the monstrosity. Old pure-blood wizarding wealth laid out in an ostentatious display of superiority.

Either they were expecting Draco or accustomed to his visits because an elderly elf with a stooped back and straggly tufts of pure white hair sprouting from long, pointed ears did not hesitate to admit them. The wizened little creature did sniff in her direction and actually appeared to turn up his hooked nose despite his diminutive stature. The Notts were not registered to have an elf, but she chose not to bring up that point.

The front hall was narrower and darker than Malfoy manor, but there were just as many portraits of constipated-looking aristocrats staring down at her and muttering to each other. Draco led her up an even darker stairway at the back of the hall to the second floor, and then along a plushly-carpeted corridor to a room that faced the back of the house.

It was full of sunshine from the west-facing windows across from the door, the walls yellow and cream and the carpeting pale green. Despite the warmth of the day, there was a cheery fire in the grate from which not a whiff of smoke penetrated the bright room. A young girl with long, dark hair was curled up on a rose-patterned settee with her nose buried in a book.

“Hello, Imogene.”

At Draco’s greeting she looked up with a wide smile only to duck her head shyly when she saw Hermione. It was the quiet girl who hated crowds, the one Theodore had been so protective of. She must be school age so apparently she was home for the summer holidays. From the colour in her cheeks when she saw Malfoy it seemed she was another to find his pointy aristocratic features and athletic build attractive.

“Hello again. I’m Hermione Granger. Do you remember me from the party?”

Draco looked surprised but the girl nodded.

She gave Hermione a hesitant smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Granger.”

“I’m happy to meet you properly, Miss Nott.” Hermione moved closer. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, it’s nothing serious. I should probably be studying but it’s summer and I wanted something to read that’s just for fun.”

“Reading is the most fun way to relax, isn’t it?”

Draco snorted.

“I walk in the gardens and practice on my broom and ride my horse and stuff.” Imogene glanced shyly at the blond boy and then met Hermione’s gaze. “But I like to read, too. So does Theo.”

“I do, too.”

“Never would have guessed,” Draco muttered as he took a seat in one of the chairs across from them.

Hermione sat at the other end of the settee and peered at Imogene’s book. Imogene curled her feet under her to give the older witch more room.

“Have you ever read _Hogwarts: a History_?” Hermione asked. If Theodore went to the school, likely his sister did, too.

“Oh, yes.” The brown eyes lit up. “That’s such an amazing book! There are so many secret places and adventures hardly anyone knows about. It’s so much more than a boring old school.”

Hermione remembered her first glimpse of Hogwarts: lighted turrets shining on a mountain top like stars in the evening darkness. Even the boats seemed magical as they moved across the glassy black water without causing a ripple. It had been fantastical and enchanting. To this girl, who grew up in a house where portraits talked and elves served drinks and relatives literally popped in, it was a boring old school.

“My father used to read to me from that book every night.” Sadness doused the sparkle in Imogene’s face. “He let me pick the story, even when he knew I’d pick one of my favourites that he’d read a hundred times, and sometimes he’d tell me about when he went to school there a long time ago.”

“Did your mother read to you, too?”

The girl shrugged. “My mother died when I was little. I don’t remember her. I know Father missed her, though. He would look at her pictures and be all sad; but then he’d take me flying or riding or read to me and we’d be happy. I missed him when he went away to the bad place for a while and I really, really miss him now.” She blinked at the moisture in her eyes.

Hermione swallowed hard and reminded herself that Nott Senior had shot curses at children and deserved his stint in Azkaban; that he had died trying to kill her and her friends.

“Did your father tell you about Hogwarts before you went to school?” Imogene asked, politely shaking off her sadness.

Hermione stiffened her shoulders. “My father didn’t know anything about Hogwarts until I got my letter. My parents were muggles.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh. I never knew anyone who was muggle-born before. But you’re not dirty.” She leaned forward and sniffed, her forehead creased. “And you don’t smell bad.”

Hermione gritted her teeth, knowing the girl did not _mean_ to be offensive. “Muggles don’t smell bad.”

Draco snorted. “I’ve been out there, Granger. The stink is so awful that the air is hazy.”

“That’s pollution.” She had become so accustomed to the air in wizarding communities that London’s smog was especially tangible when she ventured out. Even visiting her parents made her eyes water and her nose twitch. She was chagrined he had connected that observation to muggles themselves. “It’s not because muggles are dirty.”

He rolled his eyes and went back to ignoring her.

Imogene’s brow furrowed. “If your parents are muggles, how did you get your school stuff? Could you find the train to Hogwarts? Did you have to get all new clothes?”

Hermione nearly laughed at the barrage of questions, things she had worried about long ago and since forgotten. “There were special instructions in the letter I got and some nice people in Diagon Alley helped me. Yes, I got new robes but I kept my other clothes.”

The brown eyes widened further. “You wore muggle clothes at Hogwarts?”

“Sometimes.”

“But, how could you move around in those big fat skirts?”

It was Hermione’s turn to be surprised. “Fat skirts?”

The girl’s eyes darted sideways and back and she lowered her voice. “Like in the picture I saw.”

Hermione stifled a chuckle. “I don’t know how old that picture was but not many muggles wear big, wide skirts.”

“Oh.” The girl’s cheeks pinkened and Hermione patted her knee.

“It’s okay. I’ll show you newer pictures some time.”

Imogene smiled. “That would be nice.”

“Hey, Draco. I heard you were …” Theodore Nott froze in the doorway at seeing Hermione sitting beside his sister. His thin face scrunched up. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

His sister flinched at his angry tone.

“Get away from her, you dirty mudblood.”

Through the roaring humiliation and fury in her head, Hermione heard Imogene gasp.

“Language, Theo.” A heavyset young woman with thick black curls surrounding a square-jawed face came up behind Nott and put a brawny arm around his narrow shoulders. “Hello, Granger.”

Theodore ducked his head and cleared his throat.

“Hello, Bulstrode.” Hermione’s outrage subsided as she looked from Theodore’s chastised expression to the other girl’s bland expression. “How’s your cat?”

Millicent’s wide brow furrowed. “I didn’t know you knew I had a cat.”

Hermione pointed to the girl’s brown robes. “Cat hair.”

“Of course.” Millicent brushed a hand down the front of her robe. “It’s nearly impossible to get rid of.” Her guarded look brightened. “You have a cat, too, don’t you? How is he?”

“Demanding and bossy as ever.”

The heavyset girl laughed. “Aren’t they just? That’s why we love them.”

Theodore’s frown deepened. “Why are you here, Granger?”

Before she could reply, Millicent gave her boyfriend’s shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t be rude, Theo. Granger here is a famous hero. Offer her a drink. Actually, pour us all a drink and we’ll chat.”

She squeezed again and Theo winced.

He hesitated, seeming to waver between doing as he was told and wanting to remove his sister from Hermione’s proximity. “Imogene’s too young to drink.”

Millicent rolled her eyes. “Then bring her juice.”

“Imogene, go to bed.”

Her eyes widened at her brother. “It’s not even dinnertime.”

“Just go,” he muttered.

“But …” Imogene looked from her brother to Hermione and back again. “I’ve never met a muggle-born before.”

“You must have met some at school.” Hermione looked at the girl again. “There are muggle-borns at Hogwarts.”

“Are there really?” Imogene stared open-mouthed at her new acquaintance. “I only know a few girls in my house and none of them have muggle parents.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think they know any muggle-borns, either.”

“Slytherin, right?”

“Of course.” The girl’s brown eyes brightened and she sat straighter.

Shame. Imogene had seemed like such a nice girl. “That bunch of …” Hermione looked around the room and bit her tongue.

“Go to your room, now,” Theodore snapped.

His sister snatched up her book, mumbled a farewell to Hermione, and scuttled to the doorway. She paused to give Malfoy a shy smile. “Bye, Draco.”

He gave Imogene a tight-lipped smile. “Bye.”

“Bye, Millie.”

Bulstrode let go of Theodore to give the younger girl a quick hug. “Bye, honey.”

Nott shut the door behind her, then crossed his arms and frowned at Malfoy. “Now, why is she here?” He pointed at Hermione.

Malfoy’s grey eyes glittered. “She wants to explain things to us.”

Bulstrode’s thick black eyebrows raised. She looked at Hermione curiously.

“So you brought her into my home? Didn’t we get enough of her screeching out answers as if school books contained all the knowledge in the world back at Hogwarts?” Nott was still glaring at his friend.

“Sorry to dirty your precious sofa.” Hermione spread her arms to touch as much of the settee she occupied as she possibly could. “And breathe your sacred air.” She took a deep lungful.

Nott’s expression darkened but Bulstrode chuckled.

Hermione looked at the black-haired girl in surprise.

“Relax, Theo. Fetch us those drinks.” She opened the door and pushed her boyfriend none-too-gently into the corridor. Then she plopped down beside Hermione who had to shuffle over to make room for the larger witch. Bulstrode looked between Malfoy and Hermione. “Should I ask why you and Draco were together in the first place?”

Hermione stiffened. “I was at the manor helping Mrs. Tonks when Malfoy and I got into a discussion.”

“Did anyone get hexed during this discussion?”

“Thankfully for all concerned, I restrained myself.”

“Scared, Granger?” he sneered.

“Hardly.”

Bulstrode looked back and forth between them. “What is it you want to tell us, Granger?”

“Why we’re evil,” Malfoy said.

Hermione ignored the snarky blond and met Bulstrode’s curious gaze. “You fought with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. You chose the dark side.”

The heavyset girl snorted. “We chose the side of our family and friends and put our trust in the people who cared for us, the same as you did.”

“They were wrong. You must know that now.”

Bulstrode leaned back, her green-eyed gaze thoughtful. “Have you even tried to see things from our side?” She tipped her head to the side and the mass of dark curls brushed her thick shoulder. “When you were eleven, you were introduced to this wonderful world of magic and you went to school in an enchanted castle and it was like a fairy tale, right?”

For Hermione it had been a dream come to life in the most wonderful way. For them, it probably had not been wonderful at all, just a mundane trip to the school they had known about all their lives. She nodded.

“For us, magic was our whole world and it was under attack, has been under attack for centuries. There are so few of us and yet every generation more of your kind push your way in. If it weren’t for the International Statute of Secrecy, I don’t think there’d even be a wizarding world to protect since muggles outnumber us so greatly.”

“That’s no excuse,” Hermione huffed. As if ‘her kind’ were the danger.

“I’m not making excuses.” Bulstrode settled further back on the settee. “I’m telling you how we felt, and our parents and grandparents before us. But if you’re so narrow-minded you can’t see more than one side, then don’t listen. Seems unfair, though.”

Had this Slytherin who fought with on the side of Death Eaters just accused Hermione Granger of unfairness? Anger bubbled up and she was certain there might actually be smoke coming out of her ears. “You pure-blood supremacists are the ones who believe you’re better, you’re the ones who want a world that’s unfair to everyone.”

“You mean unfair to you,” Malfoy muttered.

“People like me and just about every other magical creature, except Dementors and giants. Maybe them, too.” She turned from his spiteful face to meet Bulstrode’s thoughtful gaze.

“You believe the world should be fair?” Millicent asked.

“Of course. Everyone should have the same opportunities: wizards, witches, magical folk. There’s nothing special about pure-bloods.”

“Is there anything special about Potter?” Bulstrode asked.

Hermione frowned. “Yes. But he never wanted special treatment.”

Malfoy snorted.

“You think Dumbledore treated him like any other student?” Bulstrode did not raise her voice or sound accusing but there was an edge to her tone.

“No, but he knew how hard Harry struggled to meet all the demands on him. Harry never asked to be the Chosen One.”

“So, because Dumbledore knew what Potter was going through he made allowances.”

“Yes.”

“So when you know someone’s particular circumstances, it’s fair to take that into consideration and treat that person differently?”

“Yes.” Harry certainly deserved any respect he was shown. He had more than earned it. “That’s not the same as the kind of discrimination I faced from you all.”

Bulstrode shook her head. “But it’s still discrimination.”

“No, it was being fair.”

“Potter bloody near killed me using Dark Magic and all he got was detention,” Malfoy said. “How is that fair?”

“Harry didn’t know what that spell did.” Which made his action even more irresponsible but she was not discussing that with Malfoy.

“Oh, that makes it all fine, then.”

She raised her voice. “He was wrong to do that. But I’m talking about discrimination against someone you think is different, the way Death Eaters claim that pure-bloods are superior when they’re not different at all. If you don’t understand another person, you should get to know them instead of assuming they’re beneath you.”

Bulstrode’s green eyes glittered and a slight smile curved her lips. “Like you know so many Death Eaters?”

Hermione shuddered. “I don’t need to know them, I know what they stand for and the only interaction they want with me is through the business end of a wand.”

“What do they stand for?” Bulstrode still had that tiny smile.

“World domination. Evil. Killing.”

“Didn’t the Order kill? Don’t Aurors kill? Doesn’t the Ministry of Magic control and dominate all of wizarding society in this country?”

It was Hermione’s turn to shake her head. “It’s not the same. They want to protect, not kill for amusement.”

“Yes, there were Death Eaters who enjoyed violence; generally those that had their humanity sucked out of them after years in prison. But most of us wanted to protect true-born witches and wizards and keep this world safe from those who can’t possibly understand it.”

“I understand this world. I’m part of it.”

“You have been,” Bulstrode acknowledged. “For the last few years.”

“Half my life.” It felt like she had always known, though the magic she sensed in herself had been hazy and vaguely frightening before she knew it was real. She envied these people a little in having never questioned the occasional strange things she had thought meant she was crazy. “This is my world, too.”

“Would you kill to defend it?”

“I have.” She had, Harry had, Ron had, Molly had. Every member of the Order had. At times she woke in the middle of the night, hair and clothes sticky with sweat, heart pounding, but she would do it again.

“So have I,” Bulstrode said softly. “To keep my family and my friends safe.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say that killing was not the way to keep anyone safe but a memory of Ginny’s terrified face followed by a black-robed wizard with a silver mask falling lifeless to the floor choked the words.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Nott returned followed by the elderly house-elf carrying a tray of four crystal goblets filled with amber liquid. The scrawny little creature served one to each of the young people, bowed to his master, and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione took a sip of her drink, glad of the interruption to compose her response. The liquor slid smoothly down her gut without the burn she associated with firewhiskey. It was probably expensive.

Malfoy took a drink and spluttered. “What’s this, Theo?”

The thin boy frowned. “I’m not wasting good whiskey on her.”

Bulstrode sniffed her glass and wrinkled her nose. “Really, Theo. Where did you even find this stuff?”

He shrugged. “We keep a bottle on hand so we can offer the elves a sip on special occasions.”

Hermione clenched her jaw tightly. She and enslaved magical creatures were apparently not worthy of _really_ expensive liquor. How dare Bulstrode claim that what she fought for was anything other than a selfish desire to put herself above others. They were the ones who could not see past their own prejudice. Hermione took a deep gulp of the drink Theo had so begrudgingly served her.

Malfoy’s brow rose up to his white-blond fringe. “Take it easy, Granger.”

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.” Bulstrode rested her glass on her thick knee. “Do you have nightmares, Granger?”

Hermione choked on the drink she had taken. Bulstrode pounded her back which knocked the breath out of her.

“We all do, you know,” the other witch said. “Myself, Theo, Draco.”

“Shut up, Millie,” Draco growled.

The witch ignored him. “Theo’s sister has separation anxiety. Hestia makes cocktails of pain potions. I keep a light burning in my room all night and sometimes I maybe get a little reckless on a broom.”

Theo snorted.

Still coughing, Hermione held up a hand to forestall another pat on the back while she caught her breath. She kept a light burning in her room, too. She also worked too much. Harry worked too much, Ron spent too much. Neville exercised too much; he’d gone from overweight to trim to gaunt. Molly still set a plate at the table for Fred. Arthur stood staring at the memorial in the Ministry atrium for long periods of time while crowds of his co-workers bustled around him. They all coped with having seen and done violence. It was odd to think anyone on the other side did the same.

Nott swallowed his whiskey, shook his head, and set down his empty goblet. “Are we done now, Granger?”

“No.” She turned to the black-haired girl beside her. “Were your parents Death Eaters like them?” She jabbed her thumb toward the two boys.

Malfoy stiffened where he sat.

“Watch it, mudblood,” Nott muttered.

Bulstrode stared back with her eyes half-closed, the fingers of one hand curled into the arm of the settee. “Not when Lord Voldemort first rose to power, no. They agreed that muggles and muggle-borns had no place among decent witches and wizards and they should be strictly segregated, but my parents frowned on using violence.”

Hermione nodded approval and blinked again when the action briefly made her head spin. That liquor really was smooth.

“Then, after the Dark Lord’s fall, they saw how Aurors were allowed and even encouraged to use Unforgivables against anyone suspected of dark magic while Mad Moody and others like him went on killing sprees.”

“Mad-Eye never killed if he could help it.”

Bulstrode shrugged. “If you say so. But Crouch Senior was on a power trip hoping to be Minister and there were plenty willing to help him throw as many people into Azkaban as possible to make it look like law and order were winning, especially after Lord Voldemort disappeared. Anyone who sympathized with his followers, or was guilty by association, or even expressed interest in magic labeled ‘dark’ was at risk of being arrested and thrown in prison.”

“The Death Eaters deserved prison.”

“Life sentences, without trial?”

“The Ministry wouldn’t –” Hermione was about to say, ‘lock someone up without a trial’ but of course that was exactly what had happened to Sirius. And it was questionable whether Crouch had given his son a fair trial. “It’s better than murdering families because those people disagree with you.”

“Of course,” Malfoy muttered. “It’s much better to throw people into a prison guarded by Dementors.”

Nott nodded. “Or sentence them to have their souls sucked out and leave them as mindless hulks their families can’t even bury.”

Hermione glared at them. “Yes, it is better than killing any creature you think is beneath you, which for Death Eaters is everyone like me and muggles and blood traitors and goblins and house elves and … and …”

“And it’s easy to kill someone who isn’t human, right?” Bulstrode asked.

“Exactly.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s easy to kill someone in a robe and mask and never think there’s a human being under them,” Nott said softly.

Hermione felt the familiar lurch of guilt in her gut. She opened her mouth to point out that Death Eaters were murderers and she never intended to kill anybody but her stomach churned again at the vision of the faceless black-robed form that died as a result of her hex. She had no idea who had been under that mask; for all she knew it could have been this boy’s father. It could have been a classmate. She stared at Nott. “Were you there? That last battle, were you there?”

The thin young man dropped his gaze to the floor. “No. I had to take care of Imogene.” His eyes glittered when he raised them again. “But I would have been fighting beside my father if I had the chance to save him.”

She turned away and met Bulstrode’s green gaze. “Were your parents fighting for Voldemort?”

“By the time he returned they had chosen to fight for their beliefs, yes. While Crouch and Mad Moody were hunting down witches and wizards who had the slightest connection to suspected Death Eaters, my parents were shielding as many people as they could. They set up alibis, or got children out of harm’s way when there was nothing they could do for the parents, so they made a lot of friends among those who had supported the Dark Lord. When he came back, they went along with everyone they knew rather than see the Ministry undertake another reign of terror.”

“What about not using violence?”

The black-haired girl rolled her glass between her palms, watching the amber liquid slosh gently. “They didn’t see any way out of the fighting and they were done with sitting on the sidelines while the Ministry trampled all over people’s rights in the name of fighting dark wizards.”

So her parents had worn the masks and dark robes and shot curses at Hermione and her friends. “You fought beside them.”

“Yes.”

Hermione tried to remember if anyone named Bulstrode was on the list of those killed during the battle or any of the skirmishes before. “Are your parents –”

“They’re both alive, but Father lost the use of his right hand and Mother has a scar down the side of her face. She wears her hair long now.”

“They’re not in prison, either?”

“We paid our debt to society. None of us were involved in attacks on unarmed people or muggles so the fine wasn’t as large as some.”

Hermione leaned forward. “Do they still believe that who someone’ parents are makes them better than me?”

Bulstrode’s gaze slid away.

“Bloody right.” Nott took a swig of his substandard firewhiskey as he dropped into a chair, not looking at either witch.

“Muggles are too ignorant to understand magic.” Malfoy’s condescending sneer set Hermione’s teeth on edge. “They’re driven by fear and hate like animals.”

She cocked her head. “What makes you think they fear magic?”

Malfoy sputtered. “Because they scream and cower when …”

Her lips tightened. “Most people scream and run when someone’s trying to kill them.”

Nott rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows that muggles hate magic. It’s the whole purpose of the International Statute of Secrecy. You’d understand that if you’d been raised in our society.”

Hermione nearly choked on a laugh. “Did you just say that I’d understand more about muggles if I hadn’t been raised by them?”

Nott opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. His hand gripped his glass so tightly the knuckles turned white.

“For your information, muggles are fascinated with magic. That’s why they have so many stories about Merlin.” She smiled at their gobsmacked expressions.

Bulstrode’s green eyes were wide as saucers. “Muggles know about _him_?”

“Well, the stories are contradictory and he’s not always the good guy. In some stories he’s a master of the Dark Arts.”

“Well of course he was," Malfoy said. “Half the stuff at Borgin & Burkes was made by Merlin himself.”

“Oh, please.” Bulstrode left off staring at Hermione to look at the blond. “If I had a galleon for every time someone trying to sell me something claimed it was made by Merlin I’d be richer than Blaise’s mother.”

“That only proves muggles fear magic and wizards.” Nott grinned triumphantly.

“They have as many good witches and wizards and stories about the wonders of magic as there are bad,” Hermione said. “More, in fact. I used to love reading books about magic when I was a child.” Books her parents had read with her when she was small and then later gifts she had gotten for birthdays and Christmases when her relatives and friends saw how much she enjoyed reading, especially about sorcerers.

“They don’t believe that stuff, though.” Bulstrode’s brow was furrowed. “They couldn’t really believe it or the Ministry wouldn’t be able to hush things up.”

“If they did, they’d try to get rid of us,” Nott said.

“What makes you think so? It’s been centuries since the witch burnings,” Hermione asked. Most of those trials had been targeted at women, not magic, anyway. It was foolish of these people to fear attack.

“Potter’s aunt and uncle,” Malfoy said triumphantly.

Hermione flinched. Harry’s guardians were lousy representatives of muggle views on wizards.

“We’ve heard stories of his dear relatives and how kindly they treated their magical kin.”

“Vernon and Petunia are not representative of muggles in general,” Hermione said. “Besides, Dudley was worried about Harry when he had to leave them.” No one asked who Dudley was.

“The Dark Lord’s own father was a muggle and treated him and his mother with contempt,” Malfoy said.

Bulstrode gasped and Nott gave his friend an alarmed look at broaching a subject which was probably taboo in their circles.

His glass shook in his hand but he glared back. “It’s true.” He faced Hermione again. “His family hated and rejected him and his mother.”

“But Merope used magic against his father. You can’t blame him for being resentful.” She could blame him for abandoning his pregnant wife so callously, though. “My parents love and support me even though I’m a witch.”

“Until you used magic against them.”

Her heart stuttered when she remembered what Mrs. Tonks had discussed in front of him. She squeezed the glass in her hand. “My parents still love and support me.”

Bulstrode was looking back and forth between her and Malfoy. “What did she do?”

“Obliviated them.”

Nott looked horrified. Bulstrode looked both stunned and impressed.

Malfoy had a partially awed expression. “She made her parents forget she existed.”

“Your own family?” Nott’s lip curled.

“I had to keep them safe.”

“Oh.” Bulstrode nodded and they all exchanged a look.

Hermione nearly gaped at their quick turnaround, but then Slytherins seemed inordinately committed to family loyalty. It was a good opportunity to end this discussion and make her escape. She had said what she came to say, although their chat had not gone entirely the way she imagined.

“I should go.” She glanced down at the small amount of amber liquid left in her glass, tossed it back, and looked around for a place to set the empty crystal goblet. There was a small table of polished mahogany with spindly, curving legs a few steps away but when she stood the room tilted.

“Easy, Granger.” Bulstrode had one large hand under her elbow, effortlessly supporting Hermione’s weight with one arm. It was the closest the two of them had been since the bigger girl pinned her to the wall in Umbridge’s office. “Should I help you home?”

“Draco brought her,” Nott frowned. “He should have to get her out of here.”

“The great Hermione Granger?” Malfoy shrugged. “Surely she can Apparate home drunk.”

Hermione shook off Bulstrode’s hand and squared her shoulders. Bloody right she did not need the ferret-faced git to escort her. “I’m not drunk and of course I can get myself home safely.” She faced Nott. “How far do the house wards extend?”

“I’ll take them down right now.” He pulled his wand and said a quick incantation under his breath. “Anything to get you out of here sooner,” he muttered.

“Nice talking to you, Granger.” Malfoy gave a little wave without moving from his seat.

“Say hello to your friends for me,” Bulstrode said.

Hermione closed her eyes to block them all out and concentrated on getting her spell exactly right. She wanted to go someplace quiet, clear her head, and think. She pictured her smaller but far more welcoming flat and spun on the spot.


	6. Chapter 6

The noise in the hall outside Hermione’s office increased as people passed by in small groups, talking animatedly about where to go for lunch. She glanced at the stack of case files in her to-do pile. Although she hadn’t left her desk all morning, it had only been reduced by three. Her stomach protested when she bent over her parchment again but subsided quickly as she became absorbed in writing, occasionally consulting a thick book at her right elbow with several pages marked.

By the time she realized someone was standing at her open office door, the woman had already greeted her twice and finally been forced to clear her throat loudly to get Hermione’s attention. She looked up with an apology ready on her lips but froze with her mouth still open at the two witches standing at her door.

“You work too hard, dear.” Mrs. Tonks was smiling, her warm brown eyes concerned.

Mrs. Malfoy stood beside her, looking around at the untidy mounds of books and parchments, a few of which showed finger-sized marks in thick dust. Her nose was crinkled as if the place carried a bad smell. She wore tailored emerald green robes with a tall black collar that left her shoulders bare and framed a diamond necklace.

Hermione tried to rub the ink stains off her fingers onto her brown work robes.

“We’ve come to take you to lunch,” Mrs. Tonks said.

“Please, Miss Granger, do join us.” The blonde woman’s eyes were not as warm as her sister’s but they were not the icy blue Hermione expected.

For the second time she found herself gaping at them. Narcissa Malfoy had become less reserved in her presence over the last several weeks but appearing in public, even eating in a mudblood’s company, must surely be beyond the demands of sisterly affection.

Both looked at Hermione expectantly. She pulled her bag out of a drawer and stood, then wondered if she needed her cloak. The summer morning had been pleasant but surely by now hell had frozen solid.

Mrs. Tonks held out a square of white silk monogrammed with AB. “You have a spot of ink beside your lip, dear.”

Hermione took the silk, scrubbed the corner of her mouth, and handed back the now-smudged handkerchief. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Mrs. Tonks steered her by the elbow toward the lift. “We know a lovely café that serves a delightful lunch in under two hours.”

 Hermione looked back toward her office.

“I assure you that all your work will still be waiting for you when you return.”

Andromeda’s comment startled a laugh from Hermione. Her stomach gave a pleased growl.

Narcissa Malfoy took the lead when they stepped out of the floo into the foyer of a restaurant decorated in deep blue and polished silver. A chandelier as tall and wide as Hermione’s office hung suspended above a counter where a young woman in pleated pink robes waited to seat them.

She immediately hurried to Narcissa. “Mrs. Malfoy, so good to see you back in our humble establishment.” The woman’s smile displayed a row of perfect white teeth as her thickly-lashed black eyes went from the elegant blond to her sister. Then her delicate face pinched into a scowl at Hermione’s presence. She glanced at Narcissa Malfoy’s cool expression and quickly schooled her features. “Please, come this way.”

Hermione followed them to a round table covered with a white cloth tucked among potted plants and blue lilies. The other diners were similarly screened and from the lack of audible conversation she presumed there were silencing charms around each booth as well.

“Your server will be with you right away.” The woman in pink pleats gave another perfect smile to the two elder witches, ignored Hermione, and took her leave.

A blond man in white shirt and black trousers was at their table almost before the hostess left their sight. Mrs. Malfoy ordered a bottle of wine. Hermione wanted to protest that she did not drink at lunch, besides her stomach was a little queasy from the potency of whatever whiskey Nott had served the previous evening, but she bit her tongue and nodded her thanks.

“I must apologize for my son’s behaviour yesterday.”

Hermione, who had just taken a sip of her water, choked.

“Such language is not appropriate in polite company.”

Eyes watering, Hermione simply blinked.

“Thank you,” Narcissa Malfoy said to the server who had opened the bottle of wine and poured her a taste. She swirled it, sniffed, and then took a sip.

At her nod, the server poured them each a glass, set the bottle on the cloth-covered table, bowed, and left.

Andromeda Tonks sipped hers and then smiled at her sister. “Good choice, Narcissa. You should try it, Hermione.”

The younger witch looked from one to the other of them, drinking wine and chatting as if the world had not recently tipped sideways on its axis. She picked up her own goblet, took a deep drink, and set it down without looking. “Why?” she finally managed to stammer.

The two women looked at her wearing matching puzzled frowns. In that moment, the family resemblance was striking even though one was blonde and blue-eyed and the other dark-haired and brown-eyed.

“Why what, dear?” Mrs. Tonks asked.

“Why are you,” Hermione looked at Narcissa Malfoy, “being nice to me?”

“Straight to the point.” The barest hint of a smile curved the blonde’s full red lips as if she admired rather than resented Hermione’s bluntness. “I wanted to make it clear that regardless of what may have been said or done in the past, it is apparent you are a witch of exceptional talent and intelligence, and a credit to your race.”

Despite the praise, Hermione frowned. “My race? My parents are human beings, like you.”

“Well said,” Andromeda Tonks added.

Narcissa Malfoy waved her fingers dismissively. “In any case, I’m fortunate to have made your acquaintance. I want to assure you of your welcome in my home and any place my humble influence extends.”

“Thank you.” Hermione fiddled with the stem of her wine glass while she contemplated the ramifications of such an endorsement. “Does Lucius Malfoy know you’re eating in a public place with me?”

“Of course, dear. We have few secrets from each other.”

“And it was okay with him?” It was hard to imagine the haughty aristocrat approving of his wife mingling with a lowly mudblood outside their home.

Narcissa raised one eyebrow.

Hermione mentally berated herself for thinking Narcissa Malfoy awaited her husband’s permission for anything she did. She had probably told him not only what her plans were, but also how he should thank her for furthering the family interests by associating with a war heroine.

Might as well take advantage of the matron’s newfound cordiality and tolerance for blunt questions. “Why did you support Voldemort?”

The aristocratic blonde did not wince at the name but there was a momentary stillness as if she had briefly stopped breathing.

“Was it your husband’s idea to throw in with a madman or yours?”

“Both.” Narcissa’s blue eyes fixed on Hermione. “You must understand that the charming gentleman I met many years ago was quite different from the … thing … that you know as Lord Voldemort.”

“He always believed pure-blood wizards and witches should enslave or eliminate muggles, muggle-borns, and other magical folk.”

Narcissa dabbed her lips with a white linen napkin, then set it on her lap. “Back then, I quite agreed with much of what he preached, though he did precious little to further the goals he professed and seemed more eager to advance himself than any of our shared aims.” She leaned closer. “There are so few pure-bloods and our numbers dwindle each year while the muggle population grows. The Ministry does nothing of any import to protect us as if wearing odd clothing or casting a charm in front of muggles is the most pressing threat to our existence.”

“There’s no reason to be afraid of muggles, and no justification to terrorize and murder them.” Beneath the tablecloth, Hermione’s hand clenched. “How could you support that kind of violence?”

The Malfoy matron stiffened.

“Hermione,” Andromeda said. “It’s not fair to hold my sister to account for the actions of all Voldemort’s followers. You have to understand that we were raised to believe certain truths unquestioningly and he played on that fear and prejudice.”

“Isn’t it time to question those truths?”

“I did question the methods.” Narcissa Malfoy’s voice was cool but her blue eyes were intense. “Lucius was willing to overlook my doubts and involve himself more deeply with the Dark Lord. Toward the end of his first rise to power, there were cracks in his persona; the well-spoken handsome man had begun to deteriorate, to lose his ambition and … sanity. He thought only of avoiding death. I was, I confess, somewhat relieved when he met what we thought was his demise.” She sipped her wine without breaking eye contact.

“Yet Lucius was one of the first to rush to Voldemort’s side when he returned.”

“You don’t join the Death Eaters and then refuse a summons.” There was a flicker of fear in her composed face. “The Dark Lord frowns on disloyalty even more than failure.”

“You could have fled. You could have gone to the Order.”

Narcissa raised one perfect brow. “Why would I have felt safer under the dubious protection of those who hunt Dark Wizards? We were lucky to have escaped their clutches after the First Wizarding War.”

Hermione opened her mouth to defend her friends when Andromeda laid a hand on her arm.

“You don’t know what it was like after Voldemort’s first defeat. There were certain – excesses – of justice directed at his followers and anyone linked with them.” She exchanged a glance with her sister. “Even I received a visit or two from Aurors because of my family connection and it was only because Lucius was cleared that Ted and I were no longer suspect.”

“But,” Hermione stared at Andromeda. “Ted was a muggle-born. He couldn’t have been a Dark Wizard.”

Narcissa laughed lightly. Hermione switched her wide-eyed gaze to the blonde witch.

“My dear, the Dark Lord himself had a muggle parent and you believe no muggle-born could dabble in the Dark Arts? I thought you more intelligent than that,” Narcissa said.

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. “I just meant that Dark Wizards come from Slytherin and no muggle-born would be sorted into that House.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Andromeda asked. “All manner of wizards and witches have experimented with magic labeled Dark for all sorts of purposes.”

Perhaps Bulstrode had a point; Hermione did not know much about Death Eaters or their individual hopes and fears. “So you weren’t driven by a desire for power?” she asked Narcissa.

“Oh, Lucius and I were quite convinced Lord Voldemort would take us with him on his rise to power. He was a talented wizard and far more reasonable than Dumbledore showed himself to be in the matters of Dark Arts and blood purity, at least the first time. It was different the second time; the Dark Lord was obsessed with Potter. He still craved power but it was solely for the purpose of thwarting his own demise.”

Conversation temporarily ceased when the white-and-black robed server came back with a selection of bread. He poured balsamic vinegar and olive oil onto a shallow white plate in the middle of the table.

Hermione tried to reconcile the arrogant aristocrat she had known as a child with her gracious host, a woman who had kept her family alive despite the presence of the most powerful dark wizard of their generation in her home. Narcissa Malfoy held deeply ingrained prejudice but could set it aside when she decided it was inapplicable.

She smiled and thanked the waiter before she calmly chose a square of rye bread and broke it over her plate to dip in the oil. “Had the Dark Lord been half as clever as he believed, he would have forgone further attempts on the life of the Chosen One and eliminated you. Potter wouldn’t have lasted a week without you.” She lifted her glass in a silent toast to Hermione and took a sip.

Hermione lifted her glass in return.

~

Hermione paused beside the towering war memorial in the Ministry atrium. Each corner of the graceful monolith tapered up to a fountain of water which trickled down the smooth white marble into a narrow pool that circled the base. One side of the monolith, the one that faced the line of floo entrances, listed familiar names. This is where she normally stood each day in a moment of silence for one of those memorialized in sparkling silver script on white marble.

On the left side were listed allies who had fallen during the Second Wizarding War: centaurs, house-elves, and odd names spelled with curving swirls and loops; on the right side were listed the giants and other creatures that had fought and died for Voldemort hoping for freedom or power.

She walked around to the far side and looked at the names of witches and wizards she had not before taken note of, Death Eaters, Snatchers, and their followers: Eugene Bagnold; Marcus Belby; Yatin Bhagat; Flora Carrow; Nathaniel Cole; Vincent Crabbe; Tracey Davis; Gemma Farley; Gregory Goyle, Senior; Gregory Goyle, Junior; Yurika Haneda; Bellatrix Lestrange; Walden Macnair; Graham Montague; Frank Mulciber; Thorvald Nott; Adrian Pucey. She had not known that Pucey died in one of the battles, he had always struck her as decent and fair and he was one of the few Slytherins who never once snickered at the slights made against her by his housemates. She reached out with one hand and traced the letters with her fingertips.

“Hi, Hermione. What’s up?”

She looked over to see Harry push his glasses up his nose and then brush aside his mussed hair as he stopped beside her. The glasses stayed in place but his thick, black locks sprang back across his brow.

“I was just remembering some of those who died in the fighting.”

He looked quizzically from the list of names to her. “Death Eaters, Hermione?”

She shrugged. “I never knew so many of our classmates fell in the battle. I think Belby and Bagnold were both Ravenclaws. Cole was one of ours, wasn’t he?”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he looked closer at the list of names. “Maybe. He was a few years ahead of us, though. His older sister might have been a Gryffindor prefect at one time.”

“I never knew them. I never really knew any of them.”

“Of course not.” Harry straightened his glasses again. “They fought for Voldemort. They would have hated me and tried to kill you.”

“Bulstrode said that not knowing or understanding people who are different from yourself leads to discrimination.”

He blinked several times. “Millicent Bulstrode?”

She nodded.

“Since when do you take advice from Bulstrode? She was horrid to you. When she was a member of the Inquisitorial Squad she nearly squished you.”

“She likes cats.”

His mouth fell open. “Just because … When did you even have this conversation with her?”

“We ran into her at Nott’s house.”

His jaw dropped further. “Who’s we?”

Hermione shrugged. “Malfoy and I.”

No sound came from his open mouth this time. For a moment he stared in shock, then he leaped backward and drew his wand in one well-practiced motion. “ _Finite incatatem_.”

She planted both hands on her hips. “That wouldn’t work if I’ve taken polyjuice, nor does it reverse the Imperius curse.”

He did not lower his wand. “Tell me something only Hermione would know.”

“Harry Potter, I know more of your secrets than anyone on this planet.”

“What did you put on my parents’ graves?”

“Roses.” She rolled her eyes. “You could have thought of something more interesting than that. You could have asked how you cheated in potions the year –”

“Never mind.” He lowered his wand.

“Bulstrode said I didn’t know any Death Eaters so I can’t assume I know what they thought.”

“They were murderers, Hermione.”

“We all killed people, Harry.” Her stomach coiled in familiar knots. She turned her head away.

He grasped her shoulders in his hands so she would face him. His green eyes were bright. “What you did – what we did – was entirely different.”

“They had people who loved them, family they wanted to protect, friends they were loyal to. How is that entirely different?”

He let go of her to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Hermione, hunting down Dark Wizards is my job. I have to deal with people like this daily. Some of what I read in the files,” his eyes squeezed shut, “makes me want to turn my back on magic entirely when I see it used to hurt fellow creatures.” He opened his eyes again. “These people are twisted and evil.”

“It bothers you that there are Death Eaters that never went to prison, doesn’t it? Despite what Kinglsey said about putting the past behind us and reuniting Wizarding Britain.”

“I understand what he said and I agree with him, to a point. I’ve accepted that Lucius Malfoy is never going back to Azkaban, he and Yaxley and the others who had family and connections and money enough to pay restitution.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “I’ve even accepted that we’re never going to prove Malfoy took the Dark Mark.”

She shook her head. “Harry, we’ve talked about this. That kind of magical contract doesn’t work on someone under age.”

He shrugged. “So what if it happened before or after he turned 17?”

She searched his face. “Do you still hate him that much after all this time?”

“I offered to put the past behind us. He refused to mend fences.”

“That was two months ago.”

“Even if he never killed anyone and even if he refused to identify us that time, he’s never going to be a good person.”

She held Harry’s green gaze. “Are we really divided into good people and bad people based on which side our family and friends took in the war? There are some nasty people who are not and never were Death Eaters, like Umbridge.”

His expression hardened at the name. “No, she wasn’t a Death Eater but she was a vindictive, nasty witch who deserves prison. She certainly wasn’t fighting for the Order or helping us against Voldemort.”

“McLaggen was, though, and he’s an arse.”

Harry’s features relaxed. “Still don’t like him, huh?”

“He’s rude, insensitive, arrogant, and probably part troll.”

Harry chuckled.

Hermione cocked her head. “You don’t like him, either, even though he fought with us in the final battle.”

“No, but he wasn’t a Slytherin and he wasn’t a Dark Wizard and he certainly wasn’t a Death Eater.”

“That doesn’t make him a good person, and it doesn’t make them all bad.”

“I suppose not,” Harry said. “We've all got both light and dark inside us,” he added under his breath.

She felt a pang for the pain he still carried over Sirius. “Exactly. There must be some good people who supported Voldemort for the wrong reasons or got caught up in things and couldn’t get out.” She turned her gaze back to the silver lettering etched on white marble. “How did it go with the Wizengamot this morning?”

Harry straightened his shoulders. “The Crabbes are going to Azkaban for life.”

“That’s a long time to lock up human beings in a dungeon.”

He huffed out a breath. “Hermione, they were among the worst of a bad lot. If you had to listen to the testimony against them …” He shuddered and his eyes darkened.

A chill went up her spine. Simply imagining what horrors had been discussed in that courtroom would make it difficult for her to sleep tonight. “Was Vincent an only child?”

Harry pushed back the lock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead. “No. They had an older daughter, but she cut all ties to them. We monitored her for months after their disappearance and there wasn’t a single attempt to contact her. We interviewed her and her husband, and neither of them had seen or spoken to her parents for years.”

“So when Vincent died, they lost their last child?”

“I suppose so, but, Hermione, don’t feel sorry for them. They’re probably the reason he was involved with Death Eaters in the first place.”

“Why do you suppose the Crabbes were sentenced to prison and the Carrows are free?”

His mouth tightened to a grim line. “Because despite being pure-bloods the Crabbes don’t have the kind of wealth or family connections the Carrows do. Instead they do what they’re told and don’t ask questions and they’re the first ones thrown to the wolves. But they’re cut from the same cloth: thugs supporting a leader who showed them new forms of cruelty.”

“Bulstrode said her parents only got involved because they hated the unfair way the Ministry was treating people after,” her eyes were drawn to the scar on Harry’s brow under his dark fringe, “after Voldemort’s first defeat.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Why in Merlin’s name were you and Bulstrode having this discussion, at Nott’s place no less, with Malfoy, of all people?”

“I’ll never get rid of the prejudice certain people hold about muggles and muggle-borns and really any other magical creatures if I don’t understand why they think they’re better in the first place.”

“Oh, Hermione.” He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. “You can’t think your way out of this or reason with people about prejudices they don’t even realize they hold. You have to show them. Show them what you can do, what you’re capable of, and they’ll be forced to admit that you’re twice the witch any of them have ever been.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m trying, Harry.”

“I know you are.” He squeezed her shoulders. “It helps that you have the support of the Chosen One.”

She pulled away and smacked him on the arm he hastily withdrew from around her.

“Ow.” He rubbed the spot she had hit.

Then she threw both arms around him and hugged him. “Thanks, Harry.”

He hugged her back. “You’re welcome.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, I should have posted a chapter on Wednesday in recognition of Hermione's birthday, but, oh well.

“You haven’t come to see me in two weeks.” Pansy sprawled on her sofa, head propped on one arm and feet on the other, the back of a hand across her eyes.

Draco sighed inwardly. “I’ve been busy.”

“Hanging around that cow, Millicent, and her skinny boyfriend, I suppose.” She peeked at him from beneath her hand, caught his eye, and immediately resumed her pose.

“I was at Theo’s last week, yes.” He and dropped into the chair opposite her.

The heavy brown velvet drapes were drawn and the room’s only illumination was from the chandelier above their heads. It cast a flickering circle of candlelight on the brown carpet leaving the maple paneled walls in the dark. Even in the faint light, Pansy’s skin appeared paler than it should.

“You should get some sun.”

She moved took her hand away from her face to frown at him. “You’re one to talk. You practically glow in the dark.”

“This is as tanned as I get, other than burnt.” Generations of witches and wizards and they had yet to come up with decent sun protection. “At least I go outside once in a while.” Now; there had been a time it was just easier to avoid other people.

“Good,” Pansy said under her breath. She returned to staring at the chandelier above her head. “But I still have nowhere to go and no one to go with.”

“Sit in the garden. Read. There was a series of articles in _Modern Magic_ about a new method –”

“Ugh. Don’t bore me with your stupid alchemy research. I am done school and neither of us has to work for a living.”

He sighed. “Then walk around the yard. Listen to the birds.”

Her head lolled further back and her arm dropped off the edge of the sofa. “I’m not reduced to having a conversation with birds.”

“Lying around here is so much more exciting.” He squinted at the walls but it was too dim even to see what the portraits were up to.

“I could come by your place. We could go flying or riding or swim in the pool.”

“You know my mother would have you escorted out. She’s quite concerned that we rebuild our reputation and establish the right connections.” Meaning Potter and his band of rebels. Draco leaned back to watch Pansy’s reaction. “Mother had a luncheon date with Granger.”

Pansy went still before her head turned slowly toward him. “What did you say?”

“My mother took Granger to lunch last week.”

“Narcissa Malfoy was seen in public with a mudblood and I’m not allowed to breathe the air in her back garden?” Pansy remained motionless, breathing shallowly, her eyes glittering like the unicorn charm in the hollow of her throat. “Has the world gone completely mad?”

“Damned if I know.” It certainly seemed as though everything he thought he knew had been turned sideways.

“Granger and her friends have well and truly won.” Pansy slowly turned her gaze upwards again. “And I’ve lost.”

“You could ask Granger to help you.”

Her head whipped around this time. “Why would I want help from her?” Pansy sat up and glared at him. “Why would she want to help me?”

“She’s a pushover for helping the downtrodden.” Elves, werewolves, that ugly cat.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed.

“If she thinks you’re being treated unfairly, she’ll move mountains to change things.” A. candle on the right side of the chandelier’s middle ring guttered and sent up a ribbon of smoke. “She can do it, too.”

“Since when are you chummy with the mudblood?”

“Haven’t you heard? My family is all reformed and modern now. We entertain Scarhead himself and blood traitors like my aunt.”

“Your aunt is a what?”

“My mother’s sister who married a muggle-born.”

Pansy gaped. “You have an aunt who … who … _married a mudblood_?” Her pasty skin blanched further. “Bellatrix Lestrange has a sister who married a muggle-born?”

“My Aunt Andromeda. She comes to the manor for tea. With her grandson whose mother was an Auror and whose father was a werewolf. She and my mother are helping Granger arrange a big fundraiser. And the three of them go out to lunch.” It was beyond strange.

“When … how did I not know about this?”

“You hide in here, you won’t even go outside in your own gardens, how would you learn anything? Do you even get the papers?”

Her face screwed up. “Yes, I read the bloody papers. I’m not a total recluse, you know.”

He refrained from making any response.

“There was nothing in the _Daily Prophet_ about Narcissa Malfoy reconciling with her long-lost sister or developing a sudden affection for the company of lesser creatures. Next she’ll be dining with her house-elf.”

Draco snorted at the thought, then a sick feeling uncurled in his stomach at the idea of Granger freeing the Malfoy elf and forcing Narcissa to take him for lunch.

Pansy dug a pile of glossy print from under the sofa. A witch in sleek millennium pink robes showing a generous amount of thigh and cleavage smiled from the cover. “ _Witch Weekly_ had something about an upcoming social event your mother was involved in but I didn’t read it. It’s not like I’ll be invited.”

He ignored the sly glance through her lashes. His mother had informed him he would have to attend their little party but Pansy would not be joining them.

She flipped pages until she found what she was looking for. “Good heavens, it’s to raise money for werewolf rights. Since when do we even care?”

“They’re human beings,” he muttered.

Pansy’s brown eyes were wide as she looked up from the magazine, then she narrowed her gaze on him.

He hunched his shoulders and looked away. “I have to go soon.”

“You just got here.” She pouted. It was not attractive.

“I’m babysitting my cousin tonight.”

He could feel her narrow gaze on him again though he did not meet her eyes. “Your cousin. The one whose father was a werewolf.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Nothing.” She tossed down the magazine and threw up her hands. “Nothing at all since it’s socially acceptable to fraternize with the poor creatures – I mean, human beings.” She lowered her voice and stared morosely at the magazine. “But not with me, mortal enemy of the Chosen One.”

Draco stood and looked down at her for moment. Her dark hair, usually smooth and shiny and cut to frame her round face, was longer than she used to wear it and hung in a limp curtain.

“If you told your side of the story, made people understand you were just a frightened kid, instead of ignoring everyone and hiding away like you’re guilty of –”

Her head snapped up and her eyes glinted. “Guilty of what?”

“Guilty of saying something stupid.” He ground his teeth. “Tell them all to sod off and stop judging you as if any one of them would have done differently when a madman and his army were about to attack school children. Any reasonable person would have panicked.”

“Saint Potter wouldn’t have.”

“That proves he’s an idiot.” The bespectacled git was too stupid to be afraid. Lucky for him his brunette sidekick did the thinking for the three of them.

Pansy’s hard glare softened. “The world loves Potter and hates me. Nobody wants to listen.”

“You’re a pure-blood and a Parkinson. Make them listen.”

She looked as unsure as he had ever seen.

“Potty took down the Dark Lord,” he said. “Anything’s possible.” Hell, Granger could be the bloody Minister for Magic one day. “You can make people respect you again.”

She blinked up at him. “You think so?”

“Yes.” It was uncomfortable to see the haughty Parkinson so uncertain of her place. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced away. “I really have to go. My aunt asked me to be at her place at half six.”

Pansy nodded farewell and he left her in the dim sitting room, chin in her hands, staring at the event announcement in _Witch Weekly_.

By the time Draco arrived in Andromeda’s front room, she was dressed to go out. Teddy sat on the sofa reading a story book. The chubby purple hippogriff was smiling its weirdly human smile from the page and Draco suppressed a shudder. He was spared further sight of it when Teddy saw him, tossed the book to the floor, and ran to throw his arms around his cousin’s waist.

Draco patted the head of curly purple hair which was quickly fading to silver blond. “Hi.”

Andromeda picked up the book and set it face down on a side table. “Thanks for helping me this evening. Teddy’s been looking forward to it all week. Something about promising to show him how to use that child’s potion set you brought him last time?”

“Yeah!” The purple-and-white-haired child clapped his hands. “We’re gonna make orange slime balls.”

“That sounds lovely.” Andromeda raised one dark brow at Draco.

He had a flashback of his mother giving him that look when he asked if Blaise could come over and help him fill balloons with ectoplasm for a school project. It was a look that said _have your fun but I better not find any in my house later_.

“I’ll make sure we clean up after we’re done.” He gave her the same earnest nod of utmost trustworthiness he had given his mother.

His aunt did not appear to be fooled, either. “His bedtime is quarter to eight. Don’t let him get away with stretching it out.” She bent down to give Teddy a hug. “Go to bed when cousin Draco tells you to. Only one glass of juice and one story. Lights out at eight sharp. Have a good sleep and I’ll see you when you wake up.”

“’Night, Nanna.”

The door banged open in the hall and a gust of cooler air preceded the arrival of a witch in cheap brown work robes with frizzy strands of hair escaping what had probably been a neat bun ten hours earlier.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I …” Hermione Granger stopped at the door to the warm sitting room, surprise cutting off whatever long-winded tale of boring Ministry-related work woes she had been about to relate.

Andromeda looked back in equal surprise. “Hermione, dear, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s the first Wednesday so I assumed you needed me to babysit during your meeting.” Her wide brown eyes had not strayed from Draco.

The older witch frowned in chagrin. “I know how busy you’ve been lately so I thought I’d give you the night off. I never even thought you planned to be here.”

“Auntie Miney.” Teddy threw himself toward her.

Granger wrapped one arm around the child and nodded toward Draco. “What’s he doing here?”

He rolled his eyes. “Babysitting.”

Teddy clapped his hands again. “We’re gonna have fun! You can help with the slime, Auntie Miney.”

Granger’s brows shot up to her frizzy brown fringe. She looked from the little boy wrapped around her middle to Andromeda.

“Potion set. Draco got it for him.”

If possible, Granger’s brows raised higher. “You bought him a present?”

He shrugged at the implication that he had no reason to buy something for family, especially something so inexpensive. “Yes.”

“And you’re babysitting?”

It was like she had never heard of the concept before. “Yes. So thanks for stopping by, but I’ve got it covered.”

Teddy grabbed one of his hands while holding onto Granger with the other. “We can all play.” He looked from one to the other, his parti-coloured hair now striped brown and blond and his eyes flickering between grey and brown. His round face grew rounder and he fluttered his lashes, his bottom lip growing to twice the size of the upper one.

His beseeching expression was transparently obvious; this poor child was destined to end up in Hufflepuff. Draco suppressed a groan at the doe-eyed look Granger gave Teddy in response; she was going to fall for it and he was going to be stuck with her company all evening. She would probably insist on mollycoddling the little one and make them follow the safety precautions that came with the potion set.

Granger hunkered down to put her face on a level with Teddy’s. “Of course I’ll stay, poppet.” She tilted her head to look up at Draco. “You can go if you want, you know. I’ve done this before.”

“I can handle it, experience or no. How hard can it be to keep the boy entertained for an hour and then put him to bed? Don’t you have magical creatures to save or libraries to inhabit or governments to topple?”

“Not in the next two and a half hours, no.” Her nose wrinkled. “No need for you to pass up being waited on hand and foot while counting your money and congratulating yourself on being born. You never did apologize to me.”

“I’m not going to.”

Aunt Andromeda, whose head had swivelled back and forth between them as if she was at a tennis match, chuckled. “Well, I really have to go or I’ll be late. I’m sure my grandson is in good hands with you two.”

Granger gave her an affronted look. “You’re not leaving him with us both, are you?”

Teddy nodded happily.

“I’m sure you’ll work it out.” She bent down to hug the boy, then patted the brunette’s shoulder and gave Draco a smile and a wave. “See you later.”

Before they heard the front door close behind her, Teddy was tugging both babysitters down the hall toward the kitchen.

Forty-five minutes later, Draco flicked his wand to check the time. The glowing red letters showed it to be much later than he had thought and he cast the charm again to double-check. Granger and Teddy sat at the kitchen table with their heads bent over a cup-sized cauldron which emitted a noxious odour along with thick orange overflow that hardened against its sides. Teddy had smears of the stuff on both cheeks and Granger had one on her nose. They were both giggling and taking turns poking at the cauldron with a long, wooden spoon.

“Bedtime, Teddy,” he said. “We have to clean up now.”

The little boy’s giggle was immediately replaced with a frown. “Auntie Miney never makes me go to bed on time.”

Draco sniffed. “How irresponsible of her. However, my aunt has entrusted me with making sure you get to bed.”

Granger frowned. “I always make sure he goes to bed on time.”

Teddy gave her a reproachful look.

“Usually,” she said.

Teddy turned his big round eyes on her and batted his lashes. “Not tonight, right?”

“Yes, tonight. Let’s clean up.” Her gaze moved over the sticky orange splotches on the table and rubbed at her nose again.

“I haven’t had my juice, yet.”

“I’ll get your juice in your special cup.” She shot a smirk at Draco. “Malfoy can help you clean the table and put everything away.”

He frowned at the smelly little cauldron, the spoon coated with goo, and the little boy’s cheeks but she had already hopped up to get whatever the ‘special’ cup was. Teddy tried to scrape up the spilled bits with the stirring spoon and made an even bigger mess.

Draco took the spoon away. “You get a cloth to wash your face. I’ll put these away.”

Teddy dashed out of the kitchen, presumably headed for the bathroom, and Draco cast a scourgify on the table. By the time Teddy was back with a wet cloth and Draco had cleaned and put away the cauldron and spoon, Granger brought a cup of pumpkin juice to the table in the most gaudy red-and-gold sparkly cup he had ever seen. A lion cub decorated the outside, washing its face with one thick paw. She smothered a chuckle at his disgusted expression.

After Teddy was cleaned up and had finished his juice, they put him to bed. He did not make a fuss, but he did convince them that one story each was within the bedtime rules. Finally, he was tucked in and they blew out the candles and closed the door to his bedroom. Then Draco shelved the storybooks in the sitting room while Granger took the ‘special’ cup to wash and put away.

When she came back, he wrinkled his nose as he stretched out on the sofa. “Attempting to corrupt the poor blighter before he’s old enough for his first wand?”

She lifted her chin. “His father was a Gryffindor; might as well embrace his destiny.”

“His grandmother was a Slytherin.”

Granger flopped down in one of the stuffed chairs beside the fireplace. “His mother was a Hufflepuff.”

“Ugh, really?” Draco looked toward the framed photo of the woman with spiky pink hair and a heart-shaped face. “I thought she was an Auror.”

“She was, and a good one.”

The woman in the picture laughed brightly. She hardly looked like someone who could take on Aunt Bella. “Tell me about her.”

The silence lasted long enough for him to glance sideways at Granger. She watched him warily, her eyes narrow. “What did you want to know about Tonks?”

He shrugged. He was not even sure why he asked. “Anything. I never knew her at all.”

“She was funny.” Granger hesitated again. “It was easy to be friends with her. She could take down dark wizards in a one-on-one battle and then fix supper and make jokes about her cooking. She was really bad at housework, though, and she was kind of a slob.”

Draco thought of Aunt Andromeda’s neat house. “Her mother must have loved that.”

“Tonks was strong and brave and loyal.”

Valuable traits in Granger’s Gryffindor-brainwashed mind.

“She liked the Weird Sisters.”

“I question her taste in music.”

Granger cocked her head. “Don’t like popular music?”

“Do you?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t dislike them but they’re not exactly my taste. What kind of music do you like?”

He shrugged. “Lots of stuff.”

“What’s your favourite song?”

“Bohemian Rhapsody.”

She blinked several times. “Bohemian Rhapsody? But Queen is a muggle group.”

He ducked his head. “I just like that song.”

“How did you even … where did you hear that song?”

“I don’t hang out in filthy muggle shops if that’s what you’re asking. It was kind of an accident but I liked it when I heard it and I liked the name of the song, too. Is it really sung by the Queen?”

She laughed. “No. That’s the name of the group.”

“Oh.” He looked back at his cousin’s pink hair. “The metamorphmagus gift is rare. I don’t know any Blacks that had it.”

“Her father was muggle-born, so she didn’t inherit it from him.” Her tone had a challenging edge.

His gaze moved across the heart-shaped face of his cousin. “Which is odd.”

“How do you know none of the Blacks had it?”

“I can give you the life history of all my ancestors back five generations.”

He heard her intake of breath and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“Really?”

“Family is important, and I’m the last of both the Malfoy and Black descendants so it’s up to me to maintain the legacy.” Of course, there was always that monstrosity of a family tree in Great Aunt Wallburga’s sitting room, a house that had been in the Black family for three generations. “The house on Grimmauld Place should be mine; Sirius was disinherited, but apparently he found a way around that. Not that I’d want that run-down shack. Potter’s welcome to it.”

“Teddy has as much claim to it as you do.”

“Andromeda was disinherited, too, when she married that mud ... muggle-born.” Damn. They had nearly had a civil conversation and now her brown eyes had that hard glint he was familiar with.

“You mean mudblood, don’t you? The term you so kindly introduced me to.”

He jaw clenched. “You insulted me first that day.”

She stuck her nose in the air. “What a childish excuse.”

Her schoolyard taunt should never have bothered him so much. “I earned my spot on the team, you know. Slytherins play to win. If I wasn’t a good seeker I would have suffered a crippling accident before I even got the uniform on.”

“You can’t blame me for all the other times you hurled that nasty word around.”

“Never seemed to bother you.” On the contrary, it usually got more of a rise out of her two bookends than it ever did from the beaver-toothed muggle-born.

“It did, you know.”

The admission surprised him. He stared at her. Had it actually bothered her?

“Why did you hate me so much?” Her normally shrill voice was barely above a whisper.

His stomach twisted into a painful knot. “I don’t … I didn’t …”

“I was tortured in your sitting room and you stood by and did nothing except what your aunt ordered you to do.”

He stared back at her, his heart thudding painfully. “You think that was bad? That it was the worst thing I saw happen in my home?” Images he never wanted to relive pushed their way out of the recesses of memory he had buried them in. “Things were done to people I knew – classmates, teachers – things far worse than what happened to you. I couldn’t stop any of it. At least you’re still alive, you’re still _sane_ , you weren’t eaten by that disgusting werewolf or a … a snake.”

Her brown eyes were round and the blood drained from her face.

“What Bella did to you wasn’t even as bad as what the Dark Lord did to his own followers. Every Death Eater took a few rounds of the Cruciatus curse sooner or later. Some of them screamed louder and longer than you did.” Some of them never stopped until one of their fellows ended it permanently from annoyance or out of mercy. Not Draco, though; they’d never used _Crucio_ on him. He suspected they knew he wouldn’t live through it. The witch on the other side of the fireplace in his aunt’s cozy home had endured that torture from a master and never gave up a whit of information. “You survived. You never broke.”

Her brown eyes were fixed on his face. “After seeing all of that, do you still believe muggles are dirty, stupid, and less than human?”

His breath caught in his throat. He had no interest in dominating the muggle world; he would be entirely happy never to see another muggle in his lifetime, but he still thought them lesser creatures. Like house elves without magic. “Aren’t Death Eaters proof that wizards and muggles should have nothing to do with each other? We have separate worlds and we need to stay in them.”

Granger’s glittering brown eyes narrowed. “ _I’m_ not a muggle. My parents were, and they were intelligent, kind, decent people who raised me to be the best witch I can be.”

“But you used magic on them against their will.”

Her mouth tightened. “I had to keep them safe.”

“I understand. I heard …” he shuddered at the conversation he had overheard. “They were in danger.”

Her eyes widened. “Thank you for telling me that. I never knew for certain.”

The look of shocked gratitude on her face made him want to take those words back but it was too late. “You should have gone with them. You’re never going to fit in here, why not be where things are simple and everyone is happy?”

Oddly, it looked like she barely suppressed a chuckle at his muttered comment. “You think corruption and bigotry are unique to your world?”

That brought him up short. He had never considered whether muggles had a society organized enough to have different groups or formal governments. But of course, they had a queen, so there had to be a government and a justice system. Maybe they had wars among themselves, too.

“It’s not so different there.” She held up a hand to forestall any retort from him. “I’m not saying we should dismantle the Statute of Secrecy. I just want to be acknowledged as a witch and an equal member of wizard society.”

“Equal, huh?” Hermione Granger had never in his experience sought to be merely an equal. “Anyone as bossy as you will take over and run the country.”

There was the strangest expression on her face at that before she stuck her nose in the air. “Maybe I will, once we dislodge you pure-blood supremacists from power.” Her usual haughtiness was marred by a twinkle he had not seen in her eyes before, as if her baiting was in good fun rather than contempt.

“It’s _your_ mate who’s Minister right now. You and Saint Potter and even – Merlin help us all – the Weasleys have influence.” Not that Lucius, Yaxley and others like them were powerless, but Draco was rather glad Shacklebolt was in charge instead of Yaxley.

“A good thing, too. We can finally make things fair for everyone.” _Eventually_ , he heard her add under her breath.

“Right.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Because your lot is so fair and impartial.”

It was real indignation on her face this time. “We don’t discriminate based on something as random as parentage.”

“Not unless your parents have the wrong name or you were sorted into the wrong house.”

Granger sat up straight. “Please. After all that shite that Snape pulled on Harry? Oh!” She put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I never meant to speak ill of him again.”

“Snape was a good teacher. He was a better headmaster than Dumbledore.”

Granger snorted. “Snape was a better man than we knew but he was hardly a fair headmaster.”

“He didn’t tolerate incompetence because of his own bias.” There was the outrage and temper Draco was used to seeing in Granger’s expression. Their fallen leader was clearly not to be maligned even when it was heartily deserved. “Like Hagrid and that fool, Trelawney. Neither of them was qualified to teach.”

“Hagrid is a great and loyal friend,” Granger snapped.

“But a lousy teacher.” Draco rubbed his arm.

She huffed but did not contradict him. “Snape let the Carrows teach children the Dark Arts.”

“He was ordered to. He kept them on a surprisingly short leash, though, and no one so much as questioned him.” He had fooled even the Dark Lord which was an accomplishment Draco could barely comprehend. Snape’s skill at Occlumency must have surpassed Draco’s own, though he prided himself on staying alive for over a year due to his ability to mask his thoughts. Even Snape and his parents could not have kept him safe if anyone had known for sure how hard he wished for the Dark Lord to simply disappear forever.

“I stopped at the war memorial the other day.” Granger pleated a fold of her robe without looking at him.

He wondered why she seemed suddenly nervous. “So? You work at the Ministry, you must stop by there every day.” He could picture her and her sidekicks, standing arm in arm, staring at the white monolith with the fountain in tribute to all their fallen friends.

“I do, actually, but last time I read the names on the other side.”

His stomach made an uncomfortable flip.

“I saw Crabbe’s name, and Goyle and his father.”

The unsettled feeling in his gut expanded. This was why he averted his eyes if he had to pass that white monstrosity in the Ministry atrium; it dredged up bad memories. His gaze wandered around his aunt’s cozy sitting room but the faces he had seen nearly every school day for seven years intruded.

“You miss them, don’t you?”

His gaze shot back to find Granger watching him intently. “I don’t miss them. It’s just weird that they’re gone.”

“I miss Tonks and Remus and Fred and even that horrid Lavender and so many others,” she said. “I never liked those two goons that were glued to you but I’m sorry they’re dead.”

“Are you? They wouldn’t be sorry if you were.” In fact, they would probably dance on her grave. “How can you mourn them?”

“It’s not mourning. It’s just sad that they were young and never had a chance to …”

He raised a brow at her hesitation. “To see the error of their ways?”

“I was going to say they never had a chance to mature.”

“Because they would have become kind, decent people and we could all share a group hug?”

She frowned. “I don’t know what kind of people they would have become and you don’t either. That’s my point, they never had a chance. Their parents never saw them grow up.”

He flinched inwardly at the mention of Vince’s and Greg’s parents. In a way, it was a blessing Greg’s father died with him. It would have crushed Goyle, Sr. to know his only son was buried while he sat in a prison cell, unable to even see the grave. It had been heart-wrenching enough to give Vince’s parents the news about his death. They had clutched at each other, still wearing the ripped and dirty robes they had battled in, tears soaking their grimy faces, then they had disappeared.

Too bad Potter caught up with them. The story in the _Prophet_ had made his team of Aurors out to be heroes again. The only picture of the Crabbes was a society portrait from several years ago rather than a photo of the thin couple with pinched faces and ragged clothes who appeared in court. They barely reacted when the Wizengamot sentenced them to life in Azkaban. “I bet Potter was pleased to send Vince’s parents to that stinking place for the rest of their lives.”

“Can you blame him?”

 _Yes,_ he thought.

“At least they’re still alive. I never knew so many of our classmates died four years ago; there were nearly twice as many names on the other side of that memorial.”

“I can’t believe you feel badly for every person who died whether they were throwing curses at you or not. You probably feel sad for the giants and house elves, too.”

Her expression hardened. Damn, she probably did feel bad for the elves. She had a soft spot for them and any other magical creature whether they wanted her sympathy or not.

“Yes, I do.”

“Only you would shed tears for every fallen enemy.”

“Not every last one. I’m not shedding a tear for that evil bitch, Bellatrix.” A shudder went through Granger.

“Aunt Bella was not an evil bitch,” he said quietly.

The bushy-haired brunette gave him an angry glare.

“Aunt Bella was cold and maybe more fanatical than most, but without her I wouldn’t have survived. She taught me spells, helped me defend myself.” He remembered the determined glitter in her heavy-lidded black eyes as she drilled him on Arithmancy, Occlumency, and his dueling skills.

“How can you defend her? She wouldn’t have cared if you died.”

“She would have cared a great deal if I died for the cause.” He remembered the pride in her face when he was given his mission. It was a stark contrast to the blatant terror in his mother’s eyes. “She considered it the highest honour, the greatest glory, and she would have mourned me like I was her own son.” Not that he would have wanted her for a mother, but he missed her a little all the same, especially the woman he barely remembered from early childhood, the one whose portraits showed a face without sharp edges and eyes that still had life. “Mother tells me that when I was small, Aunt Bella would put me on top of the china cabinet in the drawing room and I’d jump off into her arms. If anyone else put me up there, I’d cry and scream but for her I’d smile and jump knowing she’d catch me. She was the first one to put me on a broom. They say I cried for days when they told me Auntie Bella wasn’t coming back.” They had never spoken about her trial or about prison, but he had known she went to a bad place. If he ever mentioned his aunt, his mother looked sad and his father looked worried.

Granger was staring at him. “Bellatrix killed your cousin. She nearly killed me.”

“I know and she was crazy at the end but, that’s not all she ever was.” He did not know why he even tried to explain his aunt to Granger, who had good reason to hate Bellatrix.

“What would your aunt think about you being here, in the house of a blood traitor and a muggle-born, babysitting their grandchild? Would she hate your mother for reconciling with their sister?”

There was a time when even thinking about that made him break out in a cold sweat. Even now a shiver crawled up his spine to picture Aunt Bella walking into this room right now. “Yes, she would have hated it.”

He broke eye contact with Granger. Teddy’s favourite storybook was poking out from a couch cushion. Draco pulled it out and tucked it away on the shelf.

“You’re good with Teddy, you know. He likes you.”

He paused before he turned to look at the brown-haired witch. “Are you feeling alright, Granger? That sounded like a compliment.”

For the second time that night the door banged open in the hallway and a rush of cool air bustled into the room. It was followed by messy black curls and sharp green eyes behind black frames.

“Hermione, I came to help you babysit.” Potter froze at the sight of the blond wizard. “What’s he doing here?”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “I was invited, unlike you.”

The green eyes narrowed. “Andromeda may be willing to overlook your past mistakes,” he glanced deliberately at Draco’s left arm, “but you better watch yourself around my godson.”

“Still prejudiced, Potter?” He was aware that his rival had accused him of being a Death Eater as far back as their sixth year, even though he had been underage and too young to enter into a binding magical contract. Draco had made certain Potter could never confirm or deny whether he had taken the Mark. It was none of his business.

“Harry, that’s not fair,” Granger said.

Her friend never glanced her way, his gaze fixed on the other wizard. “You’re too soft, Hermione. You can’t trust a Slytherin.”

Draco got to his feet. “Still think you’re too good for my House, don’t you?” He smirked at Harry’s scowl. “It took forever to sort you – we all saw that – and there’s no way the Hat was dithering about putting you into Ravenclaw.”

Potter’s eyes glittered behind the round lenses. “I’m surprised you lowered yourself to breathe the air here, in the house of a blood traitor and a werewolf’s cub.”

Draco clenched his hands tightly. His nails bit into his palms but no good would come of reaching for his wand. “They’re my family.”

Without taking time to savour the surprised look on Scarhead’s face, Draco marched from the room and slammed the front door behind him.

~

Andromeda sipped her tea and watched the dancing blue light at the base of an orange flame in the fireplace. The air around the glowing log was wavy in the heat.

“Teddy’s asleep,” Narcissa said as she came into the room.

“Good.” Andromeda intended to pour her sister a cup from the flowered china teapot at her elbow, but she did not want to move just yet and her eyelids felt heavy.

They blinked open at the tinkling sound of liquid in a china cup. She started.

“Sit. Relax.” Narcissa added one spoon of sugar and two dashes of cream with a flick of her wand and then took her cup and sat.

“I’m sorry Teddy was so fussy this evening.”

One elegantly shaped blonde brow arched. “He was a perfect angel from the moment I opened the new storybook. Snuggled right down under the covers with that stuffed purple toy and closed his eyes while I read.”

Andromeda gave a tired chuckle. “It was good of you to buy him that book.” She slitted one eye and gazed at the messy pile of thin, odd-shaped books on the bookcase next to her neat rows of novels. The battered copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ was on top, the book her older sister had read from so often. “Not that he needs more books.”

“It was my pleasure.” Narcissa blew on the hot liquid before she took a dainty sip of tea.

“He stopped having naps because really, he no longer needed an afternoon rest, but it makes him tired and irritable by dinnertime. You’re so patient with him.”

Her sister sighed. “It’s much easier to be patient with the next generation. I wasn’t always so calm when Draco threw one of his monumental tantrums. Lost my temper with him more often than I would admit.”

“Then bought him some costly new toy?” Andromeda felt her lips twitch.

“Perhaps.” Narcissa examined her long, even, red nails. “Too bad we can’t skip raising children and go straight to being a grandparent. It’s ever so much more fun.”

Andromeda looked back at the flames. She could not recall being quite this tired when Dora was young, despite having been more of a handful than Teddy was.

Her sister watched her closely. “Unless, of course, a grandmother has full responsibility for raising the next generation.” She leaned sideways in the thick armchair and set one manicured hand on Andromeda’s arm.

Narcissa’s hand was warm. _Warm hands, cold heart._ It wasn’t true.

Andromeda set down her cup to lay her own hand atop her sister’s and squeezed. “Thank Draco for babysitting yesterday. He was gone before I got home. Harry stopped by,” she explained.

“Ah.” Narcissa put both hands around her tea cup, tapping one nail against the china. “My son loses every shred of good manners as soon as anyone mentions Harry Potter. It’s been that way since their first meeting. I got quite tired of Draco droning on endlessly about the other boy.”

“The feeling is mutual, I’m afraid.”

“I had hoped we were past that childhood rivalry.” Narcissa sighed, one finger still tapping against her cup. “Draco tends to react emotionally. For all his intelligence, his passion overrules good sense.”

“Well, he must have gotten along well enough with Hermione. According to Teddy, the three of them had a smashing time last evening.”

“Miss Granger was here?” Both brows arched over Narcissa’s wide blue eyes. “And no one got hexed?”

“The two of them were rather hostile initially.” Andromeda smiled at the memory. “But you know how persuasive Teddy can be.”

Narcissa shrugged nonchalantly as if she was not guilty of purchasing Teddy his own pony last week after the boy expressed a wish for a horse of his own. The dappled grey miniature horse was stabled at Malfoy Manor.

“Likely my son was properly terrified of making that young woman angry. She’s a truly formidable witch for a muggle-born.”

“She’s a formidable witch period.” Andromeda gave her sister a stern look.

Narcissa lowered her chin a fraction. “I will defer to your expertise on muggle-borns in general; I’ve known few of them. I no longer believe things are as black and white as I thought when I was young, but for generations our family has maintained certain rules.”

“It’s time to let them go.”

Her sister’s gaze met her own, then flickered away.

Andromeda settled back in her chair, took a sip of tea, and watched Narcissa with half-shuttered eyes. “Hermione has done a wonderful job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“Yes.” Narcissa likewise took a sip of tea and regarded her narrowly.

“She’s probably accomplished everything that anyone could in her current position.”

The blonde merely raised one brow as she sipped.

“I think Hermione’s talents would be enormously useful in, say, Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Yaxley’s department?” Narcissa nail tapped against her cup again. “I’m not sure he would agree with you.”

“Surely he’s close to retirement.” Andromeda smiled. “His Deputy Minister – Eugenia Fawley, isn’t it? – must be in line to take over soon and she’d make a wonderful mentor for Hermione.”

Narcissa paused for a moment before she set down her cup and smiled back. “Why don’t I ask her the next time we meet?”

~

Draco stared up at the portrait of the fair-haired man with a big belly. Ted Tonks stared back, arms crossed. No words had ever passed between them and Draco always felt that his aunt’s deceased husband disapproved of his presence in their home. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

Andromeda bustled into the room carrying a tray of biscuits. “There were some left in the kitchen after all.” She sent the plate floating onto on one delicate end table with a wave of her wand and cast a quick _lumos_ at the lamp. “Three nights in a row we’ve had visitors. Teddy is in seventh heaven.”

The evening had been fun. They had gotten out the potion set again and concocted a mixture that gave off fumes which made their voices unnaturally high long enough to say a sentence or two. They took turns breathing in the vapour and then saying something ridiculous that only sounded hilarious because of their squeaky voices; their laughter sounding just as strange and sending them into more giggles. Finally it had been Teddy’s bedtime and Aunt Droma had tucked him in while Draco waited in the sitting room.

She sat, then looked at him expectantly. “What brings you by tonight?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes still on his uncle’s portrait.

“Draco?”

Though he had come here tonight intending to talk to her about this, he struggled to put his question into words. “Was Ted,” he waved at the portrait, “was he … normal? I mean, normal for a muggle-born?”

Her eyebrows raised. “What’s normal for a muggle-born?”

“That’s what I wondered.” He turned from the portrait and took a seat across from his aunt. “I mean, my mother has decided that Granger is a competent witch, despite her birth.” That would never stop being strange, though it grew less shocking as time passed.

“Despite?” Andromeda said softly.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. The exception that proves the rule, maybe. So I wondered about Ted.”

His aunt regarded him, her warm brown eyes holding his gaze. “Ted was a competent wizard. Better than I at some things, though not as exceptional as Hermione.”

“None of us are,” he muttered.

Andromeda settled back in her chair. “If you’re asking me if there’s any difference between muggle-borns, half-bloods, and pure-bloods I can say there is nothing in blood that makes a person more powerful or more talented. We’re all human and we all share the same blood.”

“But then,” Draco looked at his aunt, “what makes us better?”

Her eyes softened and she leaned forward. “We’re not, dear.”


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione stood across from the kitchen entrance which was discreetly tucked into the opposite corner of the hotel ballroom. The room was lit by one enormous chandelier with hundreds of glass beads that twinkled in the light of five dozen candles and four smaller chandeliers, one in each corner of the vaulted ceiling. Pinpricks of light like stars glittered in the midnight blue of the ceiling itself.

Behind her was a mahogany bar. At the front of the room, a four-piece band dressed in black trousers and white shirts played quietly on string instruments. At the back of the room, above two sets of wide open double doors, were rows of glass tubes. Most of the room’s floor was taken up by round tables each surrounded by eight cloth-draped chairs and covered with a white cloth on which was a glass centrepiece charmed to twinkle a rainbow of colours. One was not quite in the centre. Hermione tweaked it and then stood back to ensure it was correctly placed.

 “You’ve done a lovely job decorating, dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tonks.” Hermione scanned the room again, wondering what to do next. Perhaps she should check with the caterer one more time to make sure there were enough hors d’oeuvres.

Andromeda touched her arm to get her attention. “You look quite lovely yourself.”

Hermione brushed at the gauzy skirt of her shiny gold dress robes. “Thanks to Mrs. Malfoy for helping me pick it out.” The price attached to the formal robe had shot a sharp pain through her chest when she saw it, but she knew appearance would count at this event. The strappy heels caused her feet to protest at the unaccustomed discomfort and she subtly shifted her weight to ease the pressure on her right foot.

“Our guests tonight will be predominantly pure-bloods,” Andromeda said. “Old money. Are you prepared?”

Hermione shifted her weight again. “How do you do it? How can you socialize with people who detested you and turned their backs on you for years?”

“I understand them. Lord knows I’m related to most of them.”

“They killed your husband,” Hermione said softly. “Your daughter.”

“I can’t live my life hating the people in this room. Bella’s gone.” Pain dulled Andromeda’s wide brown eyes as her gaze moved far away. “Someday I may be able to forgive her, too. I don’t know.” She looked back at Hermione. “The Snatchers who killed Ted are dead or in prison. I pity them more than anything for whatever desperation would move someone to hunt other human beings like animals for a few paltry galleons.”

“I don’t think they believed muggle-borns like Ted and I are human. They saw us a threat or an infestation.”

Andromeda sighed. “It’s sad how we turned on each other. Ted told me muggles keep standing armies just waiting for the next war, but we’ve never done that. Both wars were Voldemort’s attempt to divide and conquer our society for his own personal gain using our prejudices against us: pure-blood prejudice of those they believe inferior and prejudice against those we label Dark Wizards.”

Hermione drew in a breath. “You can’t be in favour of using Dark Arts?”

Andromeda chuckled dryly. “What are those? The list of what’s banned changes from year to year. Besides, what’s illegal here may be legal elsewhere and what’s acceptable here may be frowned on elsewhere.”

Andromeda Tonks had views that Hermione found fascinating. This was a conversation she could never have with Harry. “Do you think Mad Eye Moody was overzealous in his pursuit of Dark Wizards? Not that I think ill of him,” she hastened to add.

The older witch looked thoughtful. “Alastor saw awful things in the course of his work. I can hardly blame him for wanting to hold those responsible to account.”

Hermione nodded. “Harry sees horrors like that, too; lived through evils no child should have to endure. It makes you lose faith in people, or at least certain people.” She cocked her head. “Millicent Bulstrode told me her parents didn’t support Voldemort the first time, but they hated what Crouch and Moody and the Ministry did after his first defeat.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt there was a good deal of political posturing by Crouch and other officials and there were some Aurors who took advantage of the free reign they were given. I think the Ministry is as much to blame for the second war as the Death Eaters. It was hard for some people to stomach the manhunts and property seizures that were supposed to finance rebuilding efforts when so much money disappeared into the Auror budget.”

“Did it?”

“People were grieving and looking to dole out vengeance in the form of justice. It didn’t last long, but then we had Dumbledore to bring us back together. We’re a small society, we really can’t do without each other.” She regarded Hermione speculatively. “We need someone like that again, who can put aside judgement and see other points of view.”

“Kingsley can do it.” His calm demeanour coupled with a commanding stature was simultaneously reassuring and persuasive, and he had the skills of a statesman as well as the talents of an Auror. As both a pureblood and a member of the Order, equally comfortable among muggles and those who never left the wizarding world, he was a symbol of unification for a wartorn society.

“Yes,” Andromeda agreed. “But eventually someone younger will need to take over.”

Hermione shook her head at the look in the older witch’s eye. “I’m Harry Potter’s best friend and a muggle-born. It won’t be me.”

Andromeda smiled. “Our guests are arriving. I’m going to see if Narcissa wants us to help greet people.” She patted Hermione’s hand and headed toward the entryway where a few people were removing their cloaks and chatting.

Hermione looked around the room once more. The tables were set for the catered meal and a bottle of wine had been placed next to each delicate centrepiece, a Superior Red from Malfoy Apothecary. The label was pretentious but it was generous of Narcissa to donate the wine. Proceeds from sales of additional bottles would go directly to fundraising proceeds.

Hermione turned to the bar behind her. “Do we have enough white wine?” She peered around the bartender to examine the boxes encased in a cooling charm, also graciously donated by the Malfoy family business. Elite White. Of course.

“Yes, Miss.”

“I got too much red and not enough white, didn’t I? We’ll probably run short.” She chewed her lip. “Is there Scotch? I was told there had to be Scotch as well as firewhiskey.” She started around behind the bar.

The bartender grasped her arm in one white-gloved hand. “I think you should check on the hors d’oeuvres. I heard they were running low.”

“Oh, no.” Hermione spun and headed toward the kitchen.

The caterer saw her coming and ducked behind the thick oak door. Before she reached the kitchen, an arm encased in a red silk glove slipped through Hermione’s right arm and turned her.

“Miss Granger, dear, you must come and meet the guests as they arrive.” Narcissa Malfoy’s lips were the exact red of her gloves and her blonde locks were swept up in a chignon.

Hermione resisted the urge to smooth her hair despite the unseemly amount of Sleakeazy’s she had used. “I thought you and Mrs. Tonks would welcome people. I’m not really good at that kind of thing.”

“You only get good at that kind of thing by practice, dear.” Mrs. Malfoy steered her toward the wide double doors of the old hotel’s ballroom.

“Do you think we have enough white wine?” She looked back at the bar, craning her neck to see the storage shelves.

“Yes, dear.”

“I heard we were running low on hors d’oeuvres.”

Mrs. Malfoy glanced at Hermione from the corner of her eye but kept walking. “I’m quite certain we have a sufficient amount.” Narcissa held out her right hand to a woman wearing a tall bonnet trimmed in peacock feathers who had just handed her cloak to the coat check. “Melisandre, so good to see you.”

The feathers bobbed as the other woman turned to Narcissa and took her red-gloved hand in her own white lace-covered palm. “Narcissa, lovely to see you, too. And this is?” She turned heavy-lidded eyes toward Hermione.

“Miss Hermione Granger,” Narcissa introduced. “Miss Granger, this is Mrs. Rosier.”

There was a flicker of distaste in the cold gaze as it raked Hermione’s face. An answering flash of anger banished the nervousness coiled in Hermione’s stomach.

She grasped the lace-covered hand before the other woman could withdraw. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Rosier. I must say, that is a fetching bonnet.”

Melisandre Rosier reached up to brush her fingertips along one of the feathers. “Thank you.”

“I do believe those feathers flatter the curve of your cheek.”

Mrs. Rosier smiled and patted Hermione’s shoulder. “That’s sweet of you, dear.”

“There’s a bottle of red on each table, but you can get a glass of white at the bar if you’d prefer.” Hermione indicated the long oak bar with polished brass fittings. “We have plenty.”

“Thank you. I believe I’ll do just that.” Mrs. Rosier smiled and nodded at them both before she made her way toward the black-and-white garbed bartender.

“Well done,” Mrs. Malfoy said under her breath.

Hermione smoothed her skirt and patted her hair.

“Elsbeth, how are you tonight?” Mrs. Malfoy greeted a tall woman with black eyes beneath thick eyebrows and black hair liberally streaked with grey.

“Tolerably well, Narcissa.” She leaned down to exchange an air kiss with the blonde woman.

“And Henry, how are you?”

A short man wearing a navy blue cloak decorated with stars and moons stitched in silver thread returned her greeting. His head only came up to his wife’s chin but his tall, pointed hat similarly decorated with stars and moons stood higher than them both.

“This is Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, Mrs. and Mr. Burke.”

A shiver inched up Hermione’s spine when the woman’s black eyes fixed on her, but she smiled and held out a hand to them. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mr. Burke touched his fingers to hers and quickly let go.

The other woman encased Hermione’s outstretched hand in one dark-gloved palm. Her black gaze moved slowly down and back up again, pausing on Hermione’s brown curls which had been pulled back from her face to hang down her back. “Likewise, I’m sure.” After the perusal she released the handshake and nodded to Mrs. Malfoy. “We’ll talk later, Narcissa.”

 Narcissa Malfoy nodded in return.

The tall woman strode away, thick heels drumming against the wooden floor, her husband and his hat trailing behind.

Hermione’s gaze was torn away when a deep voice spoke her name. She spun back around. “Oh, Kingsley, it’s good to see you.” A genuine smile creased her face as she took his hand.

His gaze encompassed the elegantly decorated ballroom lit by the enormous chandelier. “Everything looks lovely.” The gold hoop in his ear reflected the candlelight and his eyes sparkled.

Hermione felt a knot of tension ease in her stomach at his deep, soothing tones. “Where’s your wife?”

“She crossed paths with Andromeda in the hall. Mrs. Malfoy, pleasure to see you again.” His thick hand enveloped her red silk fingers as he gave a slight bow. “Lovely party.”

“Miss Granger did much of the work.”

“She’s quite capable, isn’t she?” Kingsley smiled at Hermione.

“Quite.” Narcissa Malfoy had to tilt her head up slightly to meet the Minister’s dark gaze. “I’m rather surprised her talents haven’t been put to even greater use at the Ministry.”

Kingsley’s black brow lifted as he looked more closely at the elegant blonde. “Oh? I thought we kept her busy enough.”

That was an understatement. Hermione turned a puzzled look on Mrs. Malfoy whose gaze had fixed on someone just entering the room.

“Corban, do join us.”

A tall wizard with a long braid of pale blond hair and flowing dark green robes turned at her invitation. His smile did little to improve his hard features as he took Narcissa’s outstretched hand and greeted her and Kingsley as warmly as possible for his icy demeanour. His gaze passed over Hermione with barely a flicker of recognition.

“We were just speaking of you,” Mrs. Malfoy said brightly.

Yaxley straightened and lifted his chin even higher. “Nothing but good, I hope.”

“Naturally.” Narcissa’s smile was hard, showing a neat row of straight, white teeth between her painted red lips. “I understand you are soon to retire from your tiresome job at the Ministry.”

His cold features momentarily rippled with startlement, his pale eyes widening.

“Well deserved, I’m sure, Corban.” Kingsley turned a smile on his department head, but his black eyes glittered.

Yaxley hesitated, his pale, watery gaze skipping between Narcissa Malfoy and Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Nothing is decided, yet.”

“I don’t know why you would delay such a well-earned retirement. I understand Eugenia is quite capable. She must be grateful for your tutelage these past years.” Mrs. Malfoy smiled at a short woman with close-cropped hair dyed a dark purple to match her heavy robes as she joined them. “Isn’t that right?”

“I’m thankful to have learned from an accomplished official such as Corban.” Mrs. Fawley smiled at Yaxley but her eyes were sharp. “We’ve shared much over the years, haven’t we?”

“We all have.” Narcissa exchanged a look with Eugenia Fawley before they both turned back to Yaxley.

“I’m sure you could tell us much about Corban’s time with the Ministry.” Kingsley smiled serenely at the deputy minister, his glance skipping between her and Narcissa before he faced Yaxley again.

“I certainly could.” Fawley clasped her hands together, long purple sleeves dangling from her thin wrists.

Yaxley stared at Narcissa, his face as pale as his blond braid. “I would be embarrassed, I’m sure.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Perhaps we can save the reminiscing for after my retirement.”

“You can owl me your resignation and we’ll make plans for a suitable retirement gala,” Kingsley said. “Perhaps we can discuss this further on Monday at the office, Eugenia. We’ll need to consider staffing in the law department in the wake of Corban’s departure.”

“I’ll review potential candidates on the weekend and have a list of suggestions ready for you.”

“Excellent.”

Narcissa Malfoy looped her arm through Yaxley’s. “Why don’t we leave the worker bees to their office talk and go visit Lucius. We can rehash old times.”

Yaxley opened and closed his mouth, his eyes darting amongst all of them, but he allowed Narcissa to lead him away.

Hermione blinked. Both Fawley and Kingsley were looking at her.

“You’ve expressed some interest in Magical Law Enforcement, haven’t you, Hermione?” Kingsley asked.

“Well, I …,” she straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I have a few proposals I worked on for the department. And I have all my required N.E.W.T.s.”

“Forward me a list of your qualifications by Monday morning and I’ll have a look.” Fawley nodded at each of them. “Now, I believe I’ll have a glass of what I’m sure will be truly superior wine.” Her heavy dark purple robes swirled as she turned and made her way toward the woman with the peacock feathers.

“This is a good career move for you, Hermione.”

She managed not to gape at the Minister. Had they just blackmailed Yaxley into leaving the Ministry? She felt like a piece of driftwood that had been washed up on a beach and she had no idea where. At the same time, she was running through all the pieces of legislation that affected magical creatures who had never been consulted in the making of those laws. “I wasn’t thinking of my career, really, but I know I can make a difference working in law enforcement.”

“You certainly can.” Kingsley squeezed her shoulder.

She looked up into his kind face. The enormity of the task Kingsley faced when he took over as Minister of a divided society hit her. He had been forced to see things from all sides and deal with his staff and his constituents impartially despite his personal loyalties. “How do you work with people you know used to be Death Eaters?”

He leaned closer, bending down to look her in the eye. “I’m Minister for our whole society, not just the people who agree with me. Despite my personal convictions – and I do not regret my part in the war – I have to treat all our citizens equally and not take sides based on past association.”

She nodded. “I think I understand.”

“Are you concerned about working with Eugenia Fawley?”

Hermione hesitated. The witch was an associate of the Malfoys and probably an ex-Death Eater, yet she had not hesitated to invite Hermione to apply to work in her department. “I don’t know.”

“She and I don’t see eye to eye on certain issues, but I can assure you that she thinks highly of your work. Eugenia is a tough taskmaster but she values effort and intelligence, both of which you display in abundance. I truly believe you’ll work well together.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “I won’t tolerate any slurs about my blood status, not even from my boss.”

His full lips stretched into a smile. “I don’t expect you to overlook anything you find demeaning. In fact, your assistance in eradicating the subtle ways that muggle-borns are disadvantaged will be enlightening for us all, myself included. At the same time, you’ll learn much of wizarding history and the development of our laws from Eugenia.”

The reassurance of Kingsley’s deep, soothing voice calmed the last of her apprehension. Could it be any more difficult to work with Mrs. Fawley than it had been to plan this event with Narcissa Malfoy?

Kingsley patted her shoulder. “I can only imagine what you’ll accomplish by the end of the career you aren’t thinking of.” He caught the eye of his wife speaking with a short man in a red top hat and after a final encouraging smile at Hermione he strode in that direction.

For several moments, Hermione stood where she was, turning over all the possibilities of her future in the Ministry.

“Hermione? Are you okay?”

She started when she realized Harry and Ron were standing in front of her wearing equally worried expressions. They were surprised and only slightly less concerned when she threw an arm around each.

“Seriously, are you alright?” Ron patted her back and exchanged a glance with Harry.

“I’m fantastic. I might be changing jobs.” Her face felt like it might split with the width of her smile.

“A promotion?” Harry asked.

“Magical Law Enforcement.”

He stiffened and his green eyes narrowed. “Hermione, Yaxley can’t be trusted. We know he was a high-ranking Death Eater, even though there’s nothing we can prove. You don’t want to be in his department.”

She tilted her head to meet Harry’s worried gaze. “If one or two other Death Eaters testified against him, though, that would be all you’d need to sentence him, right?”

Harry sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Of course, but that never happens. They closed ranks.”

“Yaxley is retiring.” She smiled. “Kinglsey told him to owl his resignation.”

“What?” Harry’s green eyes widened.

Ron looked back and forth between his two friends. “Is Yaxley concerned about evidence from former co-conspirators coming to light? Is that why he’s retiring?”

She stared at the blue-eyed ginger for a moment. “Yes.” All these years and she underestimated him still. Sometimes she forgot Arthur Weasley had worked for the Ministry long enough to understand politics or that Ron was a master of wizard’s chess because of his knack for strategy.

“Fawley will probably take over, though,” Harry said. “We don’t know for certain she was involved in the Dark Arts, and she did help you pass those amendments last month, but I’ve heard things about her.” He paused uncertainly.

Hermione patted Harry’s shoulder. “I think she and I will get along fine.”

“She’s a pure-blood,” Ron said.

Hermione arched a brow. “So are you.”

He rolled his eyes. “But I’m a good guy.”

She laughed and hugged him again. “You are, but I wouldn’t want to work with you. I don’t know how George does it.”

“Oi!” He hugged her in return anyway.

“Thanks for coming, by the way. I know these aren’t your favourite people.” She stepped back and looked them both up and down.

Ron’s tailored robes were a deep red that should have clashed with his hair but instead looked amazingly good, again with the shop’s logo discreetly sewn into the left breast. His hair was long, though not as long as Bill’s, and a ruby stud glittered in his ear. Harry’s dark blue robes emphasized the black curly hair which fell across his forehead. He was not as tall and broad-shouldered as Ron, but unassuming self-assurance was evident in his stance and his direct gaze.

“You two look distinguished.”

“You do, too,” Ron said.

She brushed at her gold silk robes. It was more gauzy than her normal style but Narcissa, Andromeda, and the shop owner had all assured her the dress would fit in perfectly at the event and it was surprisingly comfortable. If only she could say the same for her shoes.

She looked over their shoulders. “Did you both come alone?”

Harry shrugged. “Ginny’s out of town. And we broke up again,” he muttered under his breath.

Ron nudged him sympathetically. “I hear this event is the social highlight of the season. There must be rich young women here looking to meet a couple of eligible bachelors.” He smoothed the front of his expensive robes.

“You’re rich yourself now,” Hermione said. “Why do you need to find a rich woman?”

“I’m rich _and_ famous.” Ron rolled his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I have to make sure she’s not after my money and if she has her own …”

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “Better not rule out the ones after your money, mate, or you might be alone with your ego.”

Ron’s blue eyes widened. “Did the Chosen One just twit me about ego?”

Hermione looped an arm through each of theirs and steered them toward silver cloth-covered tables at the far end of the room where an odd assortment of items were displayed. “Have you seen the silent auction items?”

Glowing numbers hovered above each piece which increased when someone waved a wand toward the desired object.

“No.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Just tell us now what amazing piece of magic you dreamt up to make this fundraiser spectacular.”

She frowned at him but was unable to resist explaining her spellwork. Proudly, she pointed to the glass tubes above the entryway. “See those?”

A few contained sparkly multi-coloured glass beads, each tube with a different combination of colours.

Ron’s forehead wrinkled. “Yeah. What are those, anyway?”

“The colours you chose when you bought your ticket are your identifier. Every time you bid on something, a bead drops into your container.”

Harry raised his brows. “You re-engineered the House Cup system?”

“It will encourage bidding. Even if no one else knows the colours you chose, they can probably guess, or you can discuss it with others at your table and encourage each other to bid more often.”

“Nice work.”

She steered them toward the tables again. “Someone donated a bunch of tatty red and blue scarves. Did you know Merlin wore neck scarves?”

~

She expected to sit with Harry and Ron when she finished greeting people an hour later, but before she got there Cho Chang sat beside Harry with Marietta Edgecombe and a plump young woman who must be Marietta’s date. Marietta’s curly, reddish-blonde hair was styled to cover half of her face and the scowl she sent Hermione nearly cracked the thick makeup she wore. She seemed perfectly polite to Harry but Hermione had no wish to eat dinner in her presence. Then Michael Corner and the Greengrass sisters joined them which filled the table of eight.

Andromeda, Kingsley, and his wife were seated with a trio of blonds – Narcissa’s gold locks and two heads of silver-white – along with Eugenia Fawley and the woman wearing a peacock feather. There was no empty place at their table.

While Hermione hesitated, wondering where to sit, she heard her name called. Millicent Bulstrode beckoned and pointed to the chair next to an older couple that could only be her parents. The man had the same square face and heavyset build as his daughter, and the woman had the same thick black curls though hers framed a delicate face with a prominent white scar.

“Please join us.” Mrs. Bulstrode gestured to the chair on her left.

Theodore Nott, who sat between Millicent and her parents, scowled but said nothing.

With them was the sandy-haired man Hermione had met at the Ministry. As she sat, he greeted her politely and introduced her to his husband. “I hear you’ll be joining us in Magical Law?”

She hid her surprise at how quickly word traveled. “Nothing is settled yet.”

He winked. “Of course, it’s not official until we get the memo but I look forward to working more closely with you. My boss was impressed with your grasp of legislative wording.”

A tingle of pride straightened her shoulders.

He turned to the elder Bulstrodes. “Hermione wrote most of the amendments our department proposed with regard to school absences during a full moon and ease of importing certain potion ingredients.”

“We’ve heard a bit about that,” Mr. Bulstrode said. “I believe, Miss Granger, you also implemented the house elf owner registry during your time with Regulation and Control, is that right?”

“I did.” Hermione thanked Millicent for handing her a glass of wine and waited to hear his list of complaints about the registry.

Instead, his wife took up the questioning. “Your friend, Mr. Potter, is an Auror I believe.”

“Yes,” she answered. “As are a few other Order members I worked closely with during the war.” Hermione lifted her glass to her lips. It really was a superior red wine.

Mrs. Bulstrode and her husband exchanged a glance. “Law enforcement is a heavy responsibility, Miss Granger.”

Ah, so they were worried about a repeat of Crouch’s crusade. Hermione looked the thin woman in the eye. “I’m sure we can address the injustices of the present without repeating the excesses of the past.”

Millicent paused with her wineglass half raised. When their eyes met, she proceeded to take a sip.

Hermione turned back to the elder Bulstrodes. “Despite his involvement in the Order, Kingsley has practiced moderation as head of government. No one has been imprisoned without trial and life sentences were reserved for only the most heinous abuses of magic.”

“But Minister Shacklebolt comes from a respectable family,” Mr. Bulstrode said.

Meaning pure-blood. Hermione bit down on her defensive response and responded coolly. “I agree wholeheartedly with his even-handed approach. Aurors will be held to the same standard as any other wizard or witch; there will be no, shall we say, witch hunts.”

Mrs. Bulstrode’s gaze searched Hermione’s face.

Millicent leaned forward. “Four years ago we were enemies, Granger. Some of your friends died.”

A jolt shook Hermione and she set down her glass to hide her shaking hand. “We all lost people we cared for. We all took lives and paid the price. I hope we can put that behind us and move forward together. Perhaps we’re not as different as we assumed.”

A spark glinted in Millicent’s green eyes. “Maybe not. Time will tell.”

“I can assure all of you that regardless of my connections, laws will be enforced fairly.” Hermione glanced across the room to where Lucius Malfoy’s silver-blond locks glowed in the light of the chandelier above him. “Nor will pockets of gold be allowed to unduly influence magical law enforcement.”

“So the law will apply equally to everyone?” Mrs. Bulstrode asked.

“No,” Hermione said. “Not if I have my way.”

The Bulstrodes exchanged another glance.

“The law should applied with equity, not equally.”

Millicent and her father had identical frowns on their square-jawed faces, but Mrs. Bulstrode sat back in her chair and nodded at Hermione to continue.

“Fairness means taking circumstances and motivations into account. Murder is a crime, except during wartime or in self-defence. Theft is illegal but graft is a very different situation from a parent stealing bread for a hungry child. We have unforgivable curses, but no one faults Harry for having used one when he was trying to save us all. Application of the law should take into account specific circumstances rather than applying equally to people who aren’t equal, or at least don’t have equal access to defend themselves from accusation. No one will be guilty by association or immune from censure because of their position.”

The sandy-haired man regarded her. “You sound like you’re running for office, Miss Granger.”

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. “Hardly that. I’ll be a junior bureaucrat in your department.”

Theodore Nott grunted and Millicent elbowed him.

“Well, good luck in your new position.” Mrs. Bulstrode raised her glass of wine in Hermione’s direction before she took a sip and turned to speak with her daughter.

Bowls of salad appeared in front of each place setting. Hermione reached for her salad fork while hope unfurled in her chest. She was eating dinner with people that four years ago she was exchanging hexes with, not knowing any more about them than they knew about her. People could change.

She gave Millicent a friendly smile. “How’s that demanding and bossy cat of yours?”

The other witch’s wide face lit with a wide smile. “Doing his best to put up with the new kitten we got.”

“Oh?” Hermione leaned forward. “What kind?”

“A tortoiseshell. She’s absolutely adorable, although full of energy.”

“I can imagine.” Hermione sat back and listened to enthusiastic tales of kitten mischief.

The meal was excellent. They never ran out of wine or scotch or firewhiskey. A mother of twin 8-year-olds, a boy and a girl who had both been bitten by Fenrir Greyback during a full moon, gave a speech that brought tears to the eyes of nearly everyone present. Hermione charmed her handkerchief dry three times, even though she had heard their tale of hardship twice before. Once there was funding for the centre she envisioned, these children and others like them would be better able to finish school and then to find and sustain good employment.

The silent auction was a success. Lucius Malfoy and Elsbeth Burke both bid on a silver-backed hand mirror with a jewel-encrusted handle that looked incredibly beautiful and made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up. Harry and Draco got into an insane bidding war over an old broom Viktor had donated and Ron paid an outrageous amount for a bright orange shirt autographed by a Chudley Cannons player no one had ever heard of.

Hermione barely refrained from gaping at the amount of money on the pledges she collected at the end of the night, including a large donation from Yaxley which he handed to her with a cold smile and hard eyes. She thanked him sweetly and asked where to send the receipt since she only had his office address and he probably wouldn’t be back there to collect his mail. His smile wavered and his eyes got even harder – she had not thought it possible – and she surreptitiously touched the pocket of her dress robe for the comforting feel of her wand. His dark green robes swirled around him as he spun away. She watched his stiff shoulders and jerky stride as he left, then turned to collect the next auction pledge.

Draco Malfoy was staring at her, his gaze darting between Yaxley’s retreating back and her polite smile. “Did you just…boast to his face about pushing Yaxley out of his department?”

“Yes.”

“And he left without doing or saying anything?”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin.

His grey eyes were wide. “You’re scary.”

She sniffed. “I am not. Your mother is scarier than I am.” She had been the one who set up Yaxley, after all.

“Fine, Granger, you’re not as scary as my mother. That leaves quite a bit of room to be terrifying.” His gaze scanned her from tamed curls to high heels. “Is that why she decided to take you under her wing?”

“Of course not. She’s only helping me as a favour to her sister.”

“Right.” He continued to stare as if trying to solve a particularly difficult arithmancy question.

Hermione cocked her head. “You’re a lot like Ron.” Odd she had not noticed all the similarities before.

“Bloody hell!” His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “I am not.”

“You’re both pure-bloods.”

“That does not make us alike.”

“You both have parents that love you, you’re both loyal and would do anything for family.”

“That doesn’t –”

“And your families chose sides for you while you were both in the cradle.”

His pointed jaw worked as if he wanted to refute her claim but could not think how. Finally, he brushed a lock of white-blond hair from his brow and narrowed his gaze on her face. “Why is it you’re not with the Weasel anymore? Did you finally realize he’s an idiot?”

“Ron is smarter than you give him credit for.” Smarter than most people gave him credit for.

She ignored Draco’s muttered, “He’d have to be if he can dress himself.”

“He can be a best friend to the most famous person in the wizarding world without being resentful and jealous. He’s loyal and brave and he has a good heart.”

“Then why aren’t you together?” Draco sounded genuinely curious.

“Your first love is almost never your only love.” Special and wonderful and she would not trade a minute, even if their split had been more amicable than much of their courtship, but they had both grown and changed. Or maybe not changed enough for their young love to be a stable adult relationship. “Not for Ron or Harry or I. Maybe not for Ginny, either. Harry was her first love.”

His nose crinkled. “Spare me.”

“Not for you and Pansy, either.”

“Pansy was not my first love.”

“Not your first?”

“Not my love.”

“You seem close.” He had taken Parkinson to the celebration ball – was that only a couple of months ago? – against his mother’s wishes, and he might have brought the pug-nosed bully to this event if Narcissa Malfoy had not forbidden it. Hermione felt a twinge of sympathy for the harsh treatment the witch was getting, even though she brought it on herself.

“Pansy’s a good friend.” Draco tipped his head. “She’s not the evil bitch people make her out to be.”

Maybe not to Malfoy but she had been pretty nasty to almost everyone else. “She wanted to turn Harry over to Voldemort.” Draco had tried to do the same, though. It was hard to figure him out. “You can’t possibly wish Harry had died and Voldemort had won.”

“Merlin, no.” He shuddered. “But she was a scared kid when she said what she did. She wasn’t even a Death Eater, but she gets treated worse than some who were.”

As much as Hermione disliked the pug-faced witch, that was probably true. It had been easier to speak with Millicent Bulstrode and even Theodore Nott than to be face to face with Pansy Parkinson without sending jinxes her way.

He seemed to take her silence for agreement. “The press is biased.”

That was an understatement. Even people who knew you got sucked in by half-truths in print. Maybe the stories in the papers had been unduly harsh on the Slytherin girl since the war.

“You could help.” Was that what a smile looked like on him? He must want her help badly.

She narrowed her gaze on his pointed face. “Excuse me, help Parkinson? How? And why?”

“Because it’s unfair how she’s been treated. You pulled off this whole event –”

“Not alone,” she muttered.

“– and the press loves you.”

She pinned him with a look. “Seems to me you have a cozy relationship with that Skeeter woman who works for the _Prophet_.”

He shook his head. “She hasn’t talked to me in years, and besides it would be unpopular to print anything sympathetic to Pansy.”

“What happened to ‘pretty and vivacious’?”

“Not a story the _Prophet_ would buy now.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched. How could they even call it news when the stories were so slanted? People may look down on the Quibbler, but at least it was harder to subvert. “I’ll give Rita Skeeter a call, and I’ll talk to Luna Lovegood.” Hermione could probably enlist Harry’s assistance as well. He was not nearly as antagonistic to the classmate who tried to turn him over to Voldemort as the press was, and it would suit him to turn their spotlight on someone else.

Malfoy looked dubious at her mention of Luna, but she saw the beginning of a smirk before he frowned. “I hate that you found any similarity between the Weasel and me.”

She smiled. “He would, too.”

~

“Draco!”

He braced himself just in time for Pansy to throw her arms around his neck. He gave her a  pat on the back and pulled away so he could breathe.

Her dark hair was cut in a stylish bob that framed her face and her skin was slightly flushed, putting colour in her pallid cheeks. Cosmetics filled the hollows above her cheekbones and emphasized the old brightness in her eyes. She would look good on camera.

Grey clouds buried the sun and the air smelled wet, but if the rain held off for another hour they would have staged the big event and officially announced the opening of the new Centre for Lycanthropy Public Education and Safety.

“You’re looking well,” he said.

She spun and her skirt of metallic silver cloth flared out before it wrapped around her legs. “It’s so exciting, isn’t it?”

“Shaking hands with Scarhead?” Draco grimaced. “Can’t say it is.”

Her smug expression faded a bit. “Well, that part isn’t thrilling.” Her face brightened again. “But the publicity! I’m going to be on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ , can you believe it? And the _Prophet_ already interviewed me. I even gave a few quotes to that Lovegood girl with the yellow hair and weird earrings.”

No doubt the reporters spent twice as much time with Potter getting his take on the public reconciliation, but for once his attention-seeking was a benefit. The publicity event was being billed as symbolic of the Reunification of Wizarding Society and the beginning of a New Era of Tolerance. The press releases had been dreadfully twee and enormously successful in capturing public attention for the opening of the Centre, exactly as his mother planned.

Pansy was more than willing to step into the role of media darling and innocent victim of the backlash against pure-bloods, giving interviews and posing for pictures. She insisted on thanking Draco repeatedly for her turn of fortune and had even expressed unwanted gratitude to his mother, certain Narcissa had played a part. The real force behind the change in public opinion, Granger, merely smiled to herself at Pansy’s refusal to admit that a muggle-born had that kind of influence.

The bushy-haired Acting Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement had once again been closeted at the manor with Narcissa and Andromeda while they plotted an official opening for the Centre that would garner media attention. Draco knew it was Granger who suggested a public reconciliation between Harry and Pansy.

It would take place at the entrance of a building Narcissa Malfoy had generously donated for the Centre’s use. It was a piece of property that had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, had generated a good deal of income by producing weather charms for open air carriages, and had been unused since horse-drawn conveyances were banned as too glaringly outmoded. The warehouse interior had been infested with doxies, cobwebs, mice, and a boggart hidden inside a wooden crate layered with dust, but by the time the first press photo was taken the inside was spotless and completely refurbished as a help centre for those suffering from lycanthropy and their caregivers. Andromeda Tonks had been hired as Executive Director and provisions had been made for Teddy to spend days at the child-minding program housed in the same building.

All this had been finalized in the two months since the fundraiser. Granger had already implemented a modified version of her school program to be run out of the Centre. A storeroom was stocked with Wolfsbane Potion which would be distributed at a nominal cost, or free to those who could not afford it otherwise. There was already a waiting list for the daycare and counsellors experienced with the challenges faced by werewolves, a few of them werewolves themselves, had already begun seeing clients though today would be the official opening.

“Wish me luck.” Pansy gave Draco another hug, careful not to smudge her makeup, and made her way toward the group gathered near the building entrance with the camera crew.

Narcissa and Andromeda were among them along with Granger, Potter, several gingers that had to be Weasleys, and the witch who had spoken at the fundraiser about her children. Teddy was chattering excitedly with a girl and boy who must be the twin werewolves.

“The Weasleys have done well for themselves.” Lucius came and stood beside Draco, likewise watching the small crowd posing for publicity shots and speeches. His hair was gathered in a loose ponytail at his nape to keep it from being windblown. “Arthur has been named head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.”

“No one is more knowledgeable about the misuse of muggle artifacts than Weasley,” Draco said.

His father snorted indelicately. “Another one of that family is Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. It helps to be on the Minister’s good side, although Percy does seem to be the best of a bad lot.”

One head of brown curls stood out among the abundance of red. “Granger is moving up quickly in law enforcement.”

“Yes.” Lucius’s grey eyes narrowed on the brunette speaking with Percy Weasley. “It would do to appear friendly with the witch. I suspect we’ll see more of her face in public life in future years.”

Her face was already prominent in public life. Though it seemed unlikely that efforts at friendliness on his father’s part toward Hermione Granger would be met with anything other than indifference, despite her apparent ease with his mother and other former Death Eaters. She and Millie seemed nearly friendly which was amusing because it annoyed Theo. Granger had also conversed, worked, and dined at various times with Eugenia Fawley, Millicent’s parents, and Pansy’s elderly grandmother, Beatrice Travers née Selwyn. Old Mrs. Travers claimed that Miss Granger was related to the Selwyns through an unacknowledged liaison in her family’s past. Pansy dismissed the claim but Beatrice remained in possession of an old locket with a tiny portrait of a brown-eyed girl with a mass of brunette curls.

The witch in question was exchanging pleasantries with a blonde whose elegantly styled hair must have been protected from the wind by a particularly potent sticking charm. She was dressed as fashionably as Narcissa albeit with more cleavage and leg on display. The young witch wore a vaguely hostile expression along with her polite smile and kept a possessive grip on Harry Potter’s arm as she spoke with Granger.

“Is that Daphne?” Draco frowned at the woman attached to Potter.

Lucius lifted one blond brow. “The elder Miss Greengrass? Yes, I believe so.”

Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria, had joined the group as well. Draco felt the contents of his stomach shift uneasily when the pretty brunette took Ronald Weasley’s arm and smiled up at him adoringly. Being famous for saving the world from evil clearly had benefits.

Draco and his father watched from the sidelines as photos were taken of the Centre’s patrons in front of their new building and speeches were given by Andromeda and Granger. Potter was interviewed and photographed as well, then was the significant moment when Potter and Pansy officially shook hands in the midst of camera flashes. A small man with mousy brown hair and a camera that looked too heavy for his thin neck shone a yellowish beam of wandlight onto Potter’s bespectacled face before he snapped several pictures of the two and then gave Scarhead a thumbs up.

While the small crowd milled around after the press session and his parents chatted up various dignitaries who had attended for the picture-taking, Draco slipped into the newly-refurbished building and looked around. The main floor had been left as wide open space except for a glassed-in area filled with children’s toys and a few private rooms where clients could discuss their needs with counsellors.

Upstairs had been converted to a row of offices and he found a lunchroom that could also be used for meetings. He rummaged through a large upper-level room where two entire walls were buried behind shelves containing glass jars and bottles along with various-sized cauldrons. Unlike the offices, this room had no window and smelled like his father’s shop or Snape’s classroom.

Draco was about to pick up a jar from which a pair of eyes seemed to blink out when he heard a startled exclamation behind him. He hastily took his hand from the jar and spun to see Hermione Granger giving him a curious look.

His mind whirled through possible things to say. “The opening went well.” At least, it had seemed like everything went well.

“A few minor glitches but I think we’ll get good press out of it, and there’s a lot of interest in the Centre already.” She glanced at the jar behind him.

“I was just looking around.” He waved towards the shelves and then the entire building.

Granger took a step into the room. “It’s coming along well, despite how horrible it looked when your mother first showed it to me.”

He wondered what she would have thought if she had seen it before his mother sent a team in to remove the more noxious pests that had taken up residence while the place had been abandoned. He was fairly sure Narcissa would not have mentioned the inexplicable corpse of an acromantula under a stairwell or the decrepit red cap hiding in an upstairs back room.

“The playroom is ready to go and Andromeda has been using the office here even though we’re not officially open yet. This room,” she spread her hands, “will hopefully be used as a potions lab when we expand into research and development. We’d like to create a remedy that can be used by those who have allergic reactions to wolfsbane.”

“That’s exciting.” The research possibilities spurred his thoughts. Wolfsbane would be the subject of much study in the next twenty to thirty years as the number of children with lycanthropy had swollen to heights never seen before. One of his books had a chapter on using the root of aconite rather than the flowers which lessened negative reactions although they were not as potent. “There have been recent developments in alchemy that could transfer to potion making. There were studies on transforming crushed aconite root into a paste that mimicked what you get from the flowers and leaves.” He tried to remember where he had read that article about transmutation, but his train of thought slipped away when he registered Granger’s bemused expression. Few people were as intrigued by alchemy research as he was. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find someone interested in studying that.” He hunched his shoulders and looked over at the rows of bottles on the nearest shelf.

“Yes,” she said in an odd tone.

He caught her staring at him before she quickly cleared her expression.

“Parkinson seemed quite excited earlier,” she said.

“She was,” he said. “Thank you for helping her. It’s good to see her out of that house and smiling again.”

Her expressive brown eyes rounded before he realized he had expressed gratitude, to her of all people.

In the awkward silence that followed, his gaze took in the modest feminine dress robe that must have come from a place his mother shopped, Granger’s sleek hair, and the heels that were shorter than what she had worn to the banquet but a far cry from her sensible trainers. She had made up her face for the photographers. It was still the face from school, but her features had grown more delicate with maturity. Even though she was not classically beautiful like Daphne or Astoria, she was tolerably pretty and her clothing subtly communicated power and influence.

“You’re moving in different circles, Granger.”

She tilted her head. “I’m not supposed to be fraternizing with the pure-blood elite?”

“No. Or with top Ministry officials. You’re supposed to be a low-level bureaucrat or marry into a family with magical blood and produce half-blood babies.”

He expected her to get angry, furious really.

Instead she sighed heavily. “Your mother doesn’t believe that anymore.”

“I know. She thinks you’re exceptional.” Could an exception prove a rule? Surely, if she was possessed of talent, strength, and intelligence then those assets were not dependent on blood. But if so, if ancestry did not make one special, was there anything admirable about him?

“I’m not an exception.” She shook her head sadly. “There’s no difference in magical skill or intelligence between muggle-borns and pure-bloods or half-bloods.”

“But our blood is who we are. Family defines us.” Generations of Malfoys and Blacks had bequeathed their knowledge, talent, and fortune to him to carry on their name. It was the purpose for his existence and the overriding expectation for his own life: to continue that legacy. What a pointless goal if breeding did not produce extraordinary wizards and witches.

“No. Our actions define us.”

He swallowed hard. “I hope not.”

She shook her head. “Not our actions as children. Children say and do mean things without thinking; well, without thinking the way an adult can reason.”

“But I …”

“Chose not to kill anyone,” she said hoarsely. “You didn’t kill anyone.”

Her stricken look made his chest ache. He had seen friends come back from their first missions with that expression; Millicent, Adrian, Graham, Flora, Hestia. Not Vince, though. Not Greg, either. But a lot of people had looked like that the first time they killed.

“Is that what your nightmares are about?” he whispered.

She nodded, lips pressed tightly.

“I’m sure you had no choice.”

“My choice was Ginny’s life over his. Or hers, I don’t even know.” Her hand trembled. “He was wearing a mask. I don’t know who it was.”

Someone Draco knew, then. Probably someone who had been to his home. He tried not to remember all the faces and all the names. “I have nightmares, too. I didn’t kill anyone, but I saw things and I did things that ….”

“We all have them.”

He remembered Millie saying that.

From Granger’s clenched jaw and pinched lips she probably remembered it, too. “We all over-indulge in whatever keeps the grief and guilt at bay for a while. Harry and I bury it in work, Ron buries it under his newfound wealth. Neville has lost too much weight and Hannah drinks too much of her inventory.”

“Theo drinks too much when his sister isn’t home. Millie does insane things on a broom when we’re supposed to be playing for fun. Ended up at St. Mungo’s once. Hestia …” He hesitated when he remembered he was speaking to an official from magical law.

“Spends too much money at your family’s shop?”

He nodded.

“She’s not the only one who finds pain relief in potions.” Granger massaged her temple with one hand. “If we locked up every damaged and hurting person who spent too much at an apothecary we’d run out of room in Azkaban.”

His hand clenched to hide its shaking. “What do we do now?” Burying the memories in work seemed like a reasonable solution, except working in his father’s shop would do little to distract him. More like a constant reminder. Maybe it would be best to do what his parents wanted: get married young and start a family.

“You can be whoever you want, whoever you decide to be.”

“I wanted to be my father.” Without killing or going to prison for shooting curses at teenagers. Being his father was not what he wanted so much anymore.

She stared at him intently. It was uncomfortable. He was going to look away, end this conversation, and leave but she spoke again.

“When the war ended, I went back to Hogwarts to finish my seventh year. Ron and Harry went straight to Auror training, so they weren’t at school with me.”

“I know.” He wondered where this was leading.

“While I was concentrating on exams and trying to escape my nightmares, I didn’t have to think too much beyond the end of school. But finally, I was done and I had no idea what I was going to do next. I was no longer the star student or Harry Potter’s partner and I had to figure out who I was going to be in this world.”

He raised his brows. “Wasn’t it a given you were going to fix the world?”

She laughed. “I decided to try.”

“Now you’re Acting Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the protégé of an ex-Death Eater.”

“What are you going to be?”

Caught off guard by the abrupt return to himself, he blurted out the traditional answer. “I’m going to marry and have children.”

“And your wife will be a pure-blood.”

He shrugged. “Pure-blood or half-blood.”

“What? A Malfoy marry beneath himself?”

“As long as our children are pure-bloods.” Something her children and grandchildren could never be.

“What if you don’t get married?”

“All pure-bloods get married and produce children.” Not too many children, but at least an heir. “You’ll have to marry, too.”

“Excuse me? Why?” Her expression was more offended than if he had insulted her.

He smothered a laugh. “There’s never been an unmarried Minister for Magic.”

“I’m not …”

“You will be.”

“Does that bother you?” She tilted her head and watched him narrowly. “Your father doesn’t even twitch anymore when your mother takes me shopping, Millicent and her parents invite me to their house, Eugenia Fawley is a better boss than Amos Diggory ever was, and even Theodore Nott tolerates me. People you said I shouldn’t be fraternizing with.”

“I meant that wasn’t the way I was taught things were supposed to work. Muggle-borns were not as intelligent, not as capable. They spent seven years in school and still didn’t learn things we knew as toddlers. Some of them could hold low-level jobs but that’s all they’d be able to contribute and they should be grateful we allowed them to do even that. But you proved that wrong. What if you’re not the only one? Muggle-borns may dress funny and have odd expressions and use weird gadgets sometimes but that doesn’t mean they’re not as capable as wizards and witches who grew up in our world.” He caught his breath at the end of the heretical rush of words. His mother publicly associated with Granger but accepting all muggle-borns as equals was a bit further than she would ever go.

Granger stared at him with her mouth slightly open.

“I’m sorry I called you a mudblood or told you that you didn’t belong.” There. He said it.

She blinked several times.

He held out a hand in her direction but she made no move to take it. Embarrassed, he was about to leave when she grabbed his hand.

“I accept your apology.” Her fingers were cold but her grip was firm. “I’m sorry, too.”

“What?” He looked at her in surprise.

“For the times I … wished you ill.”

That sounded like a euphemism, which was probably just as well. It was frightening to consider what she might have done to him while they were enemies.

She bit her lip and dropped his hand. “Andromeda is planning on a little celebration at her house this weekend. I think Narcissa is helping so I guess I’ll see you then.”

Unsure how to respond, he simply nodded.

“This was a strange conversation.” She grinned. “You apologizing to me was about as likely as Harry and Pansy shaking hands in front of a crowd of reporters.”

He smirked back. “As likely as my mother reconciling with Andromeda Tonks or me babysitting her holy terror of a grandson.”

“Teddy is not a holy terror.” She frowned. “Except on a broom.”

“Only because he’s had a horrible teacher until now.”

She quirked a brow. “You know, for our next media event we could have you and Harry shake hands.”

He shuddered. “Never going to happen.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Have some punch,” Narcissa said.

“Elfwine punch? I haven’t had this since we were girls.” Andromeda would not have thought twice about the cost back then; now she appreciated her sister’s generosity.

She helped herself from a crystal bowl on the small table beside them. Moisture collected around the bowl’s base making a small puddle on the glass tabletop, the cooling charm effective despite the heavy afternoon heat. Another table was covered with food, most of it bite-sized and foreign-looking which had been provided by Narcissa’s household staff, but several mismatched dishes from the Weasley cupboards held a selection of Molly’s famous treats.

Andromeda’s normally tidy little yard now stretched back as far as she could see to accommodate two dozen guests, food table, beverages table, shaded areas with tables and chairs, and sunny spots with more chairs and tables. Several people, half of them ginger-haired, stood chatting with each other. She shaded her eyes with one hand and looked toward the back of the yard, where her neat, white fence used to be visible.

“Nice extension charm,” Andromeda said.

Narcissa smiled. “Thank you.”

Andromeda turned to give her sister a quick hug. “Thank you for coming today. It means a lot to me that your family is celebrating Teddy’s birthday with us.” Together with people who had been her surrogate family for years. Without Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys, she may have lacked the strength to raise an infant orphan in the face of her own grief. They were family now, and her heart swelled at having _all_ her family present. “I’m sure Dora would be proud to have you all here.”

Even if it had to be on neutral territory. Molly and Narcissa had each offered to host and both the Burrow and Malfoy Manor were better suited to a large event, but Andromeda felt it was too soon to ask Molly and Arthur to a social gathering at the home of former Death Eaters nor would she strain her relationship with her sister by asking Narcissa and Lucius to visit the Weasley residence. Lucius and Arthur had been civil when they greeted each other but had studiously avoided being in close proximity since. Narcissa and Molly had exchanged niceties while they helped Andromeda arrange the food and tables. She counted that a win and was content to let them subtly avoid each other now. She also appreciated that Harry concealed his intense dislike of the Malfoys around his godson. It was enough that they were all together for her sake and for Teddy’s.

Teddy chased in and around the adults, yelling and waving a charmed party favour with a colourfully flashing number 5, chased by Victoire. His child’s robes fluttered around his knees as he turned sharply, her shorter legs pumping to catch up. Victoire took a swipe at the favour clutched in Teddy’s fist and nearly tripped, her frilly skirt already grass-stained with bits of twigs and leaves caught up in the lacy hem.

“They’re full of energy,” Narcissa said.

“Teddy’s been looking forward to his birthday party for weeks.” Andromeda smiled to herself. “I could barely get him to bed last night and he woke me at five this morning jumping up and down on my bed.”

“The joys of having little ones around.” Narcissa watched the children as a light breeze ruffled the silk skirt of her yellow summer dress, a wistful expression on her face.

“Anxious to be a grandmother?”

“Yes.” The blonde took her sister’s hand before meeting her gaze. “I never got to be an aunt. I’m sorry for all the years I missed.”

Andromeda squeezed the warm fingers in hers. “I am, too. Perhaps if I had –”

“The past is done. We can only live in the present and look to the future.” Narcissa’s gaze moved across the chattering groups, stopping on a head of blond hair that shone white in the sunlight.

Draco Malfoy stood in conversation with Theodore Nott and his younger sister. The Notts were spending part of the summer with the Malfoys and Andromeda had agreed they be invited, too. She had been certain Theodore would refuse to come to her house, especially considering how many Weasleys would be in attendance, but Draco must have pleaded for their company. He continued to avoid Harry though he, like Harry, masked his intense dislike in Teddy’s presence. Draco had probably been desperate for a friendly face or two in this crowd.

Imogene clutched her older brother’s arm tightly. The shy girl seemed out of place in her formal dress robes. Her brother was likewise formally robed in black despite the heat of the summer afternoon.

In a burst of speed, Victoire caught Teddy and snatched the 5 pennant from his hand. She put it behind her back and stuck her tongue out at him. He gave her a shove that knocked the two-year-old on her plump backside, crashing into the back of Theodore’s knees.

Andromeda started toward Teddy to reprimand him for his rude behaviour, but Narcissa laid a hand on her arm and pointed.

Imogene offered Victoire a hand up and then crouched down. Both little ones put aside their enmity to watch the strange girl curiously.

“I know a game we could play,” Imogene said.

Teddy and Victoire exchanged a glance before they nodded as one.

Theodore watched without comment as his sister took the children by the hand and led them toward a cluster of trees further from the tables and other guests.

Andromeda raised her brows and turned to her sister. “She’s more comfortable with Teddy than I would have thought given his parentage. With Victoire, too, being part Veela.”

Narcissa shrugged her delicate shoulders, pale beneath the thin straps of the yellow sundress. “Imogene’s exposed to a lot of different people at Hogwarts. Blood status isn’t even on the registration anymore so there’s no singling out students based on parentage. There’s actually a group of students who are werewolves and a peer support group that’s part of Hermione’s school program.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The Centre has kept me so busy since we opened last year that it’s almost all Hermione and I talk about. I’ve lost touch with the other work she does.”

“I don’t know how she juggles all of it. Eugenia keeps her at the Ministry until all hours, yet Hermione has time to chair the Centre’s board of directors, oversee her school programs as well as her new workplace sensitivity training programs for werewolves, and keep an eye on some of the other projects she started during her tenure with Magical Creatures.” Narcissa waved a hand as if she was tired merely thinking about it.

“It’s good to know her efforts have been successful.”

“Has she ever failed to accomplished something she set out to do?”

Andromeda chuckled. “She’s had setbacks, like all of us, but once Hermione Granger decides to make something happen, it usually does.” She watched Imogene Nott in a tight huddle with the children, heads bent together, Teddy’s short hair a mousy brown to match hers in stark contrast to Victoire’s golden blonde curls. “We can encourage tolerance among school children more easily than we can change the attitude of those who grew up when narrow-minded thinking was the norm.”

“All of us change, Droma,” Narcissa said softly.

“We do.” Though it had been easier for Andromeda as a young woman to question truths accepted as common knowledge than it was for her sister as an adult, especially with the company they had kept.

Hopefully, the next generation would accept that every human being had value, and in return acknowledge that everyone acted in accordance with what they believed was fair and just no matter how horrible their actions seemed.

She watched Theodore Nott, his gaze fixed on his younger sister as she played with the children of people he had been taught were beneath him. He had spoken barely more than a word to anyone other than the Malfoys and he had not touched a bite of food. But he was here, in her home, and he had allowed Imogene to come despite how protective he was of the child.

“I’m surprised Theodore doesn’t protest his sister being so friendly with Teddy and Victoire.”

“Teddy is part of our family,” Narcissa said as if that guaranteed his acceptance. “And who could fail to be enchanted by that pretty angel. Clever name, by the way.”

The corners of Andromeda’s lips twitched upward. “Fleur and Bill swear it was because she was born on the second anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat, but Hermione claims Fleur lost a bet to Viktor Krum and had to name her firstborn after him.”

“Hmmm. Hermione and Viktor are close, aren’t they?”

“They exchange owl post regularly.” Andromeda shook her head at the speculative gleam in her sister’s eye. “It’s not romantic.”

Narcissa had taken a personal interest in furthering Hermione’s political career and considered a spouse indispensable for the next step in conservative wizarding society. A pureblood like Viktor who had attended a school known for its tolerant stance on Dark Arts in addition to being a well-known quidditch star would be a tactical choice.

“Hermione is not about to let you select her mate.” Andromeda tipped her chin toward Draco. “You would do better to find a mother for those grandchildren you want. Does Draco return Imogene’s infatuation?” It would explain the extended summer visit.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes in her son’s direction. “No, though the girl is still young.”

“He and Pansy are close.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Narcissa arched a pale eyebrow. “Miss Parkinson was paired in _Witch Weekly_ with the successful and handsome Oliver Wood.”

Since Pansy Parkinson’s public reconciliation with Harry, the press had been deeply sympathetic of the orphan girl whose brothers had died at the hands of Death Eaters and whose father hid in the family mansion drinking himself to an early grave. The stories downplayed her family’s involvement with Voldemort in favour of a new darling who was always willing to give them an interview. A professional athlete who lived in a media spotlight was likely a good match for her.

“I had hoped to arrange something with one of the Greengrass girls but my timing is off.”

Narcissa nodded toward the pair: one blonde, one brunette, both classically beautiful and dressed in fashions that appeared casual and probably cost more than Andromeda spent in a month. She was certain Daphne’s light blue dress robe had graced the cover of _Witch Weekly_ only last week.

As usual, the blonde had a tight grip on Harry’s arm as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Astoria’s fingers were intertwined with Ron’s. He gazed down at her upturned face with a slightly dazed expression as if he did not believe she was holding his hand. The younger Greengrass was a lovely witch. Andromeda had yet to decide if Daphne was good enough for Harry.

“They’re young and they’ve only been together a few months,” she said. “You may have opportunity yet.”

“I know. Who can tell what the future will hold?” Narcissa tipped her head. “What does Miss Weasley think of her former beau dating such a lovely young witch?”

“Oh, Ginevra is doing just fine.” Andromeda tilted her chin toward a trio seated at one of the tables.

The red-headed witch sat on the lap of dark-complexioned young man with curly black hair while she leaned over to kiss another witch wearing a circlet of weeds in her yellow hair and a necklace of what appeared to be wine corks.

Narcissa quirked a brow. “All three of them?”

Andromeda nodded. She had only met Dean and Luna once, but their good-natured easiness seemed to balance out the fiery athlete and neither objected to Ginny’s frequent extended absences.

“Molly will get grandchildren twice as quickly and she has a head start on me as it is.” Narcissa’s red lips turned downward in an aristocratic pout.

Andromeda chuckled.

“I’m going to check on Lucius.”

Her husband stood alone, watching the chattering clusters with a haughty expression of disdain.

Andromeda saw Hermione seated with the Weasley who headed the Department of Magical Transportation and his wife. “I was going to speak with Hermione, but on second thought I’ll join you.” Much as Andromeda liked Percy and admired his enthusiasm for whatever job he set his mind to, she did not feel in the mood for one of his speeches.

~

“So if you opened up more international portkey licences, it would reduce the value of the permits and there would be less corruption around their issuance,” Percy finished.

Audrey nodded earnestly as she turned her adoring gaze from her husband to Hermione.

“That would decrease enforcement costs, both for bribery and illegal portkey usage, and simultaneously increase revenue to the Ministry for additional licences.” Percy pushed his glasses higher on his freckled nose and sat back.

Hermione regarded him with admiration, despite a nagging chagrin that he had commandeered her at a party to discuss business. His suggestion would ease pressure on his own department, but it would also benefit Magical Law and the Ministry as a whole as well as encourage more international travel. The past several years had seen a steep decline in other wizarding populations visiting Great Britain. “I’ll take it up with Eugenia.”

“That’s all I ask.” Percy smiled happily, which did wonders for his sallow face. Then something behind her caught his eye. He rose and offered his arm to his wife, whose pallid skin had almost as many freckles as her husband even though her hair was a dark auburn. “Please excuse us, Hermione. George and Angelina arrived and we haven’t seen them in ages.”

She mumbled a farewell, relishing a few minutes of relative silence as her gaze wandered around the yard. She thought she could hear fountains beyond a neat row rosebushes in full bloom. Narcissa’s spellwork. She was also responsible for the delicious punch which Hermione thought might be actual elfwine punch. It was a lovely party and everyone had found good company.

Ginny, Dean, and Luna had joined Harry and Ron and their bookends. Astoria was rather nice and seemed quite smart but she hid it. Being with Ron would hopefully convince her there were men who liked smart women. Daphne, though, grated on Hermione’s last nerve despite the witch’s efforts to curb her blatant prejudice to please Harry. She could not fathom what Harry liked about the blonde. Maybe that his girlfriend wanted to spend every minute of every bloody day with him and was willing to wait up to all hours to see him on days he worked late. She wondered if she was judging Daphne harshly for not being Ginny or was feeling left out now that her two best friends were glued at the hip to two girls she barely knew.

She sipped her punch and let her gaze wander again. Molly and Arthur were seated at one of the tables with Bill, Fleur, Percy, Audrey, George, and Angelina Johnson. Andromeda was speaking with Narcissa and Lucius. Teddy and Victoire were playing a game that involved hiding behind trees and giggling, coached by Imogene. Nott’s sister was smiling more broadly than Hermione had ever seen. Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy stood quietly at the edge of the lawn, watching the chattering knots of partygoers.

Collecting her half-empty punch glass and her beaded handbag, Hermione stood and walked over to them.

“Granger,” Nott greeted her with his typical aloofness.

Millie would have curbed her boyfriend’s unfriendliness with a casual word or gesture. The thought made Hermione smile inwardly.

“Nott. Malfoy.”

“Hello, Boss.”

“I’m not your boss, Malfoy.”

He shrugged his thin shoulders under a black shirt that must have been hot in the warm sunshine but contrasted strikingly with his silver hair. “You run the Foundation, the Foundation pays my contract.”

She rolled her eyes. “How goes the research?”

Remarkably, Malfoy seemed to enjoy working at the Centre. He had even taken the lead in creating their research program from the minute details of ingredient stock and staff recruitment to long-term strategy. Even more remarkable was that he hired a muggle-born as his research partner. Emile was from France so he harboured no resentment toward the Malfoy name and Draco seemed perfectly comfortable working with him. Their progress in only two months showed great promise.

His grey eyes brightened. “Emile’s input has been invaluable. I wasn’t going to hire him at first; he thought alchemy was about turning rocks into gold – weird idea – but he’s a dab hand at potions despite the abysmal teaching at Beauxbatons. He wasn’t even intending to go into research but his older sister is studying something muggle called chemistry and he connected that with potions. It’s rather clever.”

“He tells me he would never have made the connection without your guidance. Emile speaks highly of your ability in the lab.”

Malfoy preened at the praise.

“Merlin, please,” Nott groaned. “Don’t get him started on his research project. He’ll drone on for hours.”

“It’s groundbreaking work,” Hermione said. Brilliant, actually, to cross old alchemy texts with modern potions advancements, but for Nott’s sake she changed the subject. “How’s Millie’s new kitten?”

“It attacks my hems. I’ve got claw holes in three of my best robes.”

Hermione stifled a giggle. “Kittens do that.” She reached into her beaded bag. “I brought these for Imogene. I promised her some pictures.” She held out a few muggle fashion magazines. They were old, but at least the clothing was from the current decade. If Hermione could disabuse the girl of her outdated notions of muggle fashion, it might get her to question other things she believed about those without magic.

Nott’s nose wrinkled as if the magazines smelled bad. “You can show them to her later.”

Shrugging, she put them back in her bag. He may have refused to take them, but she had permission to give them to his sister. It was progress.

“How’s Blaise?” she asked Malfoy. “I thought you might invite him, too.”

“I did.” He lifted his chin. “He said he wouldn’t step foot in the house of a blood traitor and he wouldn’t step foot in mine, either, given the company I’m keeping.” His grey eyes met hers meaningfully.

She clenched her fingers tightly around her punch glass. It did not surprise her that some wizards still felt they could look down on muggle-borns and people who associated with them, but it continued to hurt. And make her angry. “I’m sorry your friend snubbed you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Malfoy looked across at Ginny with Luna and Dean. “If Blaise wants to pretend there’s any difference between one witch and another because of who her parents or her friends are, it’s his loss.”

It was not a shock – quite – to know Malfoy’s sentiments had changed drastically, but to hear him express it openly caused warmth to spread in her chest. She grinned. “Well, I can overlook you being friends with Nott if you can overlook my being friends with Harry and Ron.”

Nott gave her a sour look.

Malfoy shuddered. “For an intelligent and talented witch, you show remarkably poor judgement in choosing friends.”

“Says someone who is friends with Pansy Parkinson.”

Malfoy put one hand on his heart. “Pretty and vivacious Pansy? I read that you were best mates now. Don’t you two dress shop together and gossip about centaurs?”

“Ugh, no.” That sounded like a perfectly horrible day. How the _Prophet_ could print that drivel without checking any facts with her was ridiculous.

Not to mention that Hermione had no interest in the latest novel about centaurs. Millicent had raved about the summer bestseller which took up an entire shelf of the front window at Flourish & Blotts. One look at the cover depicting a witch with impossibly large, scantily clad breasts and a centaur with similarly unlikely anatomy in the area of his barely concealed genitals convinced Hermione it was not a book she would be reading. “Does Parkinson read that trash?”

Malfoy gave her a wide-eyed look, though he seemed to be barely holding back a smirk. “Of course. I thought that’s what all witches read.”

Hermione screwed up her face. “Does that mean Narcissa Malfoy reads …” The image made her shudder. Then she jabbed a finger at Malfoy. “You referred to me as a witch.” Despite his changing attitude over the past year, it was the first time he had used the term to describe her.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You have a magic wand, you brew potions, and you ride a broom. Wait, scratch that last one.” He pushed her finger aside. “I know you’re a witch, Granger.”

“That description sounds like it came from muggle fairy tales.”

“Yes, how come muggles have so many stories about magic?” He sounded genuinely baffled.

She gaped at him. “How …?”

“Emile and I were talking.”

“Oh.” Hermione tried to imagine Draco Malfoy having a conversation with a muggle-born about fairy tales.

“You mentioned muggle stories about Merlin.” Nott’s voice was hesitant.

She met his puzzled frown with a reassuring smile. “Muggles don’t hate magic. Even if they knew about us, they wouldn’t attack us in ignorance and fear.”

Nott’s thin face was pinched in a dubious frown but he said nothing. For all his ingrained prejudice, he was reflective. Even if it took him awhile to change his mind, once he did his change of heart would not be lip service or transitory. Between Millicent and Draco, his doubts would eventually be put to rest.

But she could not expect him to see her and her friends as people like himself if she did not demonstrate that she saw him and his father as people, too. She did not know why Nott Sr. thought he was entitled to shoot curses at her or why he believed muggles deserved nothing better, but his children loved and mourned him and she could offer her sympathy for their bereavement. They were all on the same side now.

She reached out to lay a hand on Nott’s arm. He stiffened but did not pull away.

“I never said how sorry I am that you lost your father.”

His eyes widened.

“My condolences.”

His jaw worked for a moment, his gaze holding hers for longer than he ever had before. A spark of respect glinted there. His expression softened. “I’m sorry for your losses, too.”

“Thank you.” She dropped her hand and glanced over to where Imogene laughed brightly and clapped at something Teddy had done. The little boy puffed up with pride. “Your sister seems happy.”

His eyes followed the direction of her gaze. “She’s better. She still misses Father but she doesn’t wake up screaming much anymore and she hasn’t skipped a day of school this year.”

“I’m glad.” She looked at Malfoy. “How about your nightmares?”

He gave her a startled look. For all their interactions, they rarely discussed anything personal. He hunched and stared at the ground. “They’re not so bad anymore.”

“Me, too.” It was funny how offering forgiveness to others made it easier to forgive yourself.

He met her gaze and gave a tiny nod.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before another group of young people joined them.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said.

“Hi, Harry. Hi, Ron.” She gave her friends a broad smile, which faded only a little when she turned to the witches with them. “Hello, Astoria, Daphne.”

Both sisters returned her greeting.

“Hi, Draco. Hi, Theo,” Daphne said. “Nice to see you here.”

“We haven’t seen you in ages.” Astoria tipped her head to smile up at Draco.

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“Working.” Daphne’s nose wrinkled. “I really don’t know why you bother.”

Ron mumbled under his breath but subsided quickly when Astoria gave him a stern look.

“I heard you were working on transmuting crushed aconite root into a paste similar to the potency of the flowers and leaves,” Astoria said.

“Not you, too,” Theodore groaned.

“Yes.” Draco looked at her in surprise. “We’ve had some early successes, though it remains to be seen if we can duplicate those results on a large scale.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” Hermione said. “Then we’ll have a remedy with virtually no negative reactions and safe for children as young as two.”

Luna and Dean joined them, hands linked behind Ginny’s back with her arms around their waists.

 “You should add petals from Siberian squill,” Luna said. “It counteracts the allergy-inducing toxin of aconite without reducing its efficacy.”

Hermione was about to thank her for her uninformed but well-intentioned suggestion when she saw the stunned expression on Draco’s face.

“That might actually work.” He stared at Luna in shock.

She rested her head on Ginny’s shoulder. “Only if you pick the squill under a full moon after bathing in a nearby river.”

“Uh …”

“And it helps if you’re naked.”

Harry and Ron burst out laughing. Theodore and Daphne looked appalled. Ginny and Astoria eyed Draco speculatively as if imaging him naked. Dean shook his head and gave Luna an affectionate kiss, then they both kissed Ginny so she would not feel left out.

Hermione was torn between laughing at the embarrassment staining Draco’s cheeks and trying to explain to him that Luna was just being Luna.

“Does anyone else think this is strange?” Luna asked.

“I think you’re strange,” Malfoy muttered.

“Five years ago would any of us have imagined we’d be together at a child’s birthday party?”

Startled, Hermione looked around the group. No, five years ago she definitely would not have imagined this. In fact, she probably would have guessed that the animosity among them would be passed to their children. Maybe their children’s children. That would be sad. “No,” she said. “But I’m glad we are.”

Ron looked down at Astoria. He slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed. “I am, too.”

She blushed prettily and ducked her head. They made a sweet couple, yet their paths would never have crossed in their school days.

“Thank you for coming to my godson’s party, Malfoy,” Harry said. “It means a lot to him.”

Draco raised one pale eyebrow. “I wouldn’t miss _my cousin’s_ fifth birthday.”

“You missed the first four,” Harry said under his breath.

Draco’s expression turned sour. Before he could respond, Hermione stepped between them.

“Teddy’s happy that you’re all here, and Andromeda appreciates how well you are _all_ ,” she looked meaningfully at Harry, then Draco, “getting along.” If they could start with tolerance, they could work their way to mutual respect. Maybe eventually their children would even be friends.

“I’m willing to play nice and let bygones be bygones.” Ginny squeezed Dean and Luna and looked meaningfully at Malfoy. “At least for today.”

He mumbled something in return that sounded like agreement.

“At least for today,” Harry echoed.

Hermione smiled at him. “It’s a start.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas: [bornfrom_theashes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bornfrom_theashes/pseuds/bornfrom_theashes), [bannedfrompencils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bannedfrompencils/pseuds/bannedfrompencils), and mizzymel.


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